T-\    Y 

GLORY 

OF  THE 

CONQUERED 


NOVEL 


SUSAN  GLASPELL 


THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 


THE  GLQRY  OF  THE 
CONQUERED 

THE  STORY  OF  A  GREAT  LOVE 

BY 

SUSAN   GLASPELL 


NEW   YORK 

FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,   1909,  BY 
FREDERICK  A.  S^QKES  COMPANY 

.    ,  t  A$l^  rights,  reserved       . l » 


March,  1909 


To 

DR.  A.  L.   HAGEBOECK, 
Who  Made  This  Book  Possible 


921504 


CONTENTS 

PART    ONE 

PAGE 

I.  ERNESTINE           ...*...        3 
II.  THE    LETTER 11 

III.  KARL 16 

IV.  JACK  AND  "  HIGHER  TRUTH  "      .          .          .          .21 
V.  THE    HOME-COMING 30 

VI.  "GLORIA    VICTIS" 39 

VII.  ERNESTINE   IN    HER   STUDIO         ....  51 

VIII.  SCIENCE,  ART  AND  LOVE 55 

IX.  As  THE   SURGEON   SAW   IT           .         ...  69 

X.  KARL  IN    His   LABORATORY           ....  69 

XI.  PICTURES  IN  THE   EMBERS 77 

XII.  A  WARNING  AND  A   PREMONITION        ...  85 

XIII.  AN    UNCROSSED   BRIDGE 90 

XIV.  "To   THE   GREAT   UNWHIMPERING!  "    .         .         .100 
XV.  THE    VERDICT 118 

XVI.  "GOOD    LUCK,    BEASON  ! " 123 

XVII.  DISTANT  STRAINS  OF  TRIUMPH     .         .         .         .133 

XVIII.  TELLING    ERNESTINE 149 

XIX.  INTO   THE    DARK 156 

PART    TWO 

XX.  MARRIAGE  AND  PAPER   BAGS         .         .         .         .161 

XXI.  FACTORY-MADE    OPTIMISM 167 

XXII.  A  BLIND  MAN'S  TWILIGHT  .         .         .         .173 

XXIII.  HER    VISION 189 

XXIV.  LOVE  CHALLENGES  FATE       .         .         .         .         .199 
XXV.  DR.  PARKMAN'S  WAY 218 

XXVI.  OLD-FASHIONED    LOVE  .  .     223 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

XXVII.  LEARNING  TO  BE  KARL'S  EYES       .         .         .     233 
XXVIII.  WITH    BROKEN    SWORD  .         .         .         .251 

XXIX.  UNPAINTED   MASTERPIECES        ....     261 

XXX.  EYES   FOR   Two     .         .         .         .         .         .     277 

XXXI.  SCIENCE  AND  SUPER-SCIENCE  .         .         .     284 

XXXII.  THE  DOCTOR  HAS  His  WAY  .         .          .295 

XXXIII.  LOVE'S    OWN    HOUR        .....     306 

XXXIV.  ALMOST    DAWN 319 

XXXV.  "On,    HURRY— HURRY!"        ....     320 

XXXVI.  WITH  THE  OUTGOING  TIDE     ...  324 


PART    THREE 

XXXVII.  BENEATH    DEAD    LEAVES          ....  333 

XXXVIII.  PATCHWORK   QUILTS        .....  337 

XXXIX.  ASH   HEAP  AND  ROSE  JAR     ....  343 

XL.  "LET  THERE  BE  LIGHT"       ....  352 

XLI.  WHEN  THE  TIDE  CAME  IN     .          .         .          .  359 

XLII.  WORK,   THE    SAVIOUR      .....  365 

XLIII.  "AND  THERE  WAS  LIGHT"             .  371 


THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 


PART    ONE 

CHAPTER    I 

ERNESTINE 

SHE  had  promised  to  marry  a  scientist! 
It  was  too  overwhelming  a  thought  to  en 
tertain  standing  there  by  the  window.     She 
sought  the  room's  most  comfortable  chair  and 
braced  herself  to  the  situation. 

If,  one  month  before,  a  gossiping  daughter  of 
Fate  had  come  to  her  with — "  Shall  I  tell  you  some 
thing? — You  are  going  to  marry  a  man  of  science! " 
— she  would  have  smiled  serenely  at  Fate's  amusing 
mistake  and  responded — "  My  good  friend,  it  is 
quite  true  that  great  uncertainty  attends  this  sub 
ject.  So  much  to  be  expected  is  the  unexpected,  that 
I  am  quite  willing  to  admit  I  may  marry  the  hurdy- 
gurdy  man  who  plays  beneath  my  window.  I  know 
life  well  enough  to  appreciate  that  I  may  marry  a 
pawnbroker  or  the  Sultan  of  Turkey.  I  assert  but 
one  thing.  I  shall  not  marry  a  '  man  of  science.' ' 

And  now,  not  only  had  she  promised  to  marry  a 
man  of  science,  but  she  had  quite  overlooked  the 
fact  of  his  being  one !  And  the  thing  which  stripped 
her  of  the  last  shred  of  consistency  was  that  she 
was  to  marry,  not  the  every-day,  average  "  man 
of  science,"  but  one  of  the  foremost  scientists  of  all 


4''  THE  GLORY  OF,  THE  CONQUERED 

the  world!  The  powers  in  charge  of  things  matri 
monial  must  be  smiling  a  quiet  little  smile  to-night. 

But  ah — here  was  the  vindication!  He  had  not 
asked  her  to  marry  him.  He  had  simply  come  and 
told  her  she  was  to  marry  him.  And  he  was  a  great, 
strong  man — far  more  powerful  than  she.  She  had 
had  positively  nothing  to  do  with  it!  Was  it  her 
fault  that  he  chanced  to  be  engaged  in  scientific  pur 
suits?  And  when  he  took  her  face  so  tenderly  in 
his  two  hands — looked  so  far  down  into  her  eyes 
— and  told  her  in  a  voice  she  would  follow  to  the 
ends  of  the  earth  that  he  loved  her — was  there  any 
time  then  to  think  of  paltry  non-essentials  like  art 
and  science? 

But  she  thought  of  them  a  little  now.  How  could 
she  get  away  from  them  when  each  year  of  her 
past  marched  slowly  in  front  of  her,  paused  for  an 
instant  that  she  might  get  a  full  view,  and  then 
passed  grinningly  back  to  the  abyss  of  things  gone, 
from  over  the  shoulder  tossing  straight  into  her  con* 
sciousness  a  jeering,  deep  sinking  "  You  too?  " 

Ernestine  Stanley — that  was  the  name  she  read 
in  one  of  her  books  open  beside  her.  Why  her  very 
name  stood  for  that  quarrel  which  had  rent  all  the 
years ! 

Until  she  was  ten  years  old  she  had  been  name 
less.  She  had  been  You — and  Baby — and  Dear — 
and  Mother's  Girl — and  Father's  Girl,  but  her 
mother  and  father  had  been  unable  to  agree  upon 
a  name  for  her.  Each  discussion  served  to  send 
them  a  little  farther  apart.  Finally  they  spoke*  of 


ERNESTINE  5 

Ernestine  and  reached  the  point  of  agreement  through 
separate  channels.  Her  father  approved  it  for  what 
it  meant  in  the  dictionary ; — her  mother  for  the  mu 
sic  of  its  sound.  That  told  the  whole  story;  their 
attitudes  toward  her  name  spoke  for  the  things  of 
themselves  bestowed  upon  her. 

Her  father  had  been  a  disciple  of  exact  science, — 
a  professor  of  biology.  He  believed  only  in  that 
which  could  be  reduced  to  a  formula.  The  knowable 
was  to  him  the  only  real.  He  viewed  life  micro 
scopically  and  spent  his  portion  of  emotion  in  an 
aggressive  hatred  of  all  those  things  which  he  con 
signed  to  the  rubbish  heap  labeled  non-scientific. 

And  her  mother — she  never  thought  of  her  mother 
without  that  sad  little  shake  of  her  head — was  a 
dreamer,  a  lover  of  things  beautiful,  a  hater  of  all 
she  felt  to  be  at  war  with  her  gods.  Ernestine's 
loyalty  did  not  permit  the  analysis  to  go  further, 
except  to  deplore  her  mother's  unhappiness  as  un 
necessary.  Even  when  a  very  little  girl  she  wondered 
why  her  father  could  not  have  his  bottles  and  things, 
and  her  mother  have  her  poems  and  the  things  she 
liked,  and  just  let  each  other  alone  about  it.  She 
wondered  that  long  before  she  appreciated  its  signifi 
cance. 

As  she  grew  a  little  older  she  used  to  wonder  if 
something  inside  her  would  not  some  day  be  pulled 
in  two.  It  seemed  the  desire  of  each  of  her  parents 
to  guide  her  from  what  they  saw  as  the  rocks  sur 
rounding  her.  Elementary  science  was  all  mixed  up 
with  Keats  and  Heine  and  Byron.  Another  one  of 


6     THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

her  early  speculations  was  as  to  whether  or  not  poetry 
and  science  really  meant  to  make  so  much  trouble. 

Of  course  from  the  very  first  there  had  been  the 
blackboard — the  blackboard  and  all  its  logical  suc 
cessors.  As  perversity  would  have  it,  it  was  her 
father  bought  her  that  blackboard.  It  was  to  help 
turn  her  in  the  way  she  should  go,  for  upon  this 
blackboard  she  was  to  do  her  sums.  But  the  sums 
executed  thereon  were  all  performed  when  some  one 
was  standing  at  her  shoulder,  while  many  were  the 
hours  spent  in  the  drawing  of  cats  and  dogs  and  fish 
and  birds,  of  lakes  and  trees  and  other  little  girls 
and  boys.  She  never  had  that  being-pulled-in-two 
feeling  when  she  and  the  blackboard  were  alone  to 
gether.  The  blackboard  seemed  the  only  thing 
which  made  her  all  one,  and  she  often  wished  her 
father  and  mother  loved  their  things  as  she  did  hers, 
for  if  they  were  only  sure,  as  she  was,  then  what 
some  one  else  said  would  not  matter  at  all. 

They  lived  in  a  university  town,  her  father  being 
a  professor  in  the  school.  In  the  later  years  of  her 
college  life  he  forced  her  into  the  scientific  courses 
which  she  hated.  She  sighed  even  now  at  the  mem 
ory  of  those  weary  hours  in  the  laboratory,  though 
while  hating  the  detail  of  it,  she  responded,  as  her 
father  had  never  done,  to  the  glimpses  she  caught  of 
the  thing  as  a  whole.  It  was  ironical  enough  that 
the  only  thing  she  seemed  to  get  from  her  scientific 
studies  was  an  enthusiasm  for  the  poetry  of  science. 
In  those  days  many  thoughts  beat  hard  against  the 
door  of  Ernestine's  loyalty.  Why  did  not  her  mother 


ERNESTINE  7 

see  all  this — and  make  her  father  see  it?  Was  there 
not  a  point  at  which  they  could  have  met — and  did 
they  not  fail  in  meeting  because  neither  of  them 
went  far  enough? 

It  was  when  she  was  in  her  senior  year  that  her 
father  died.  She  finished  out  her  laboratory  work 
with  lavish  conscientiousness,  feeling  a  new  tender 
ness  of  him  in  the  consciousness  that  his  ideas  for 
her  had  failed.  That  hour  before  his  funeral,  when 
she  sat  beside  him  alone,  stood  out  as  among  the  very 
vivid  moments  of  her  life.  The  tragedy  of  his  life 
seemed  that  he  had  failed  in  impressing  himself. 
His  keenness  of  mind  had  not  made  for  bigness.  Life 
had  left  an  aggressiveness,  a  certain  sullenness  in 
the  lines  of  his  face.  His  mind  and  his  soul  had 
never  found  one  another — was  it  because  his  heart 
had  closed  the  channel  between  the  two? 

And  then  they  went  to  New  York  and  Ernestine 
began  her  study  of  art. 

A  great  light  seemed  turned  back  over  it  all  to 
night.  She  understood  much  now  which  she  had 
lived  through  wonderingly.  She  seemed  now  really 
to  know  that  girl  who  went  to  New  York  with  all 
the  dreams  of  all  her  years  calling  upon  her  for 
fulfilment.  She  knew  what  that  girl  had  dreamed 
when  she  dreamed  she  knew  not  what ;  knew  what  she 
thought  when  she  thought  the  undefined.  She  smiled 
understandingly,  tenderly,  at  thought  of  it  all — the 
bounding  joy  and  the  stubborn  determination,  the 
fearing  and  the  demanding  and  the  resolving  with 
which  she  began  her  work.  She  was  a  great  deal  like 


8     THE     GLORY    OF    THE     CONQUERED 

a  child  on  the  long-promised  holiday,  and  much  like 
the  pilgrim  at  the  shrine.  Somewhere  between  those 
two  was  Ernestine  that  first  winter  in  New  York. 

It  was  after  the  second  year,  after  that  strange 
mixture  of  things  within  her  had  unified  to  fixed 
purpose,  and  after  it  had  become  quite  certain  her 
dreams  had  not  played  her  false,  that  the  other  big 
change  had  come.  Her  mother  slipped  away  from 
the  life  which  had  never  held  her  in  the  big  grip  of 
reality.  She  had  been  so  long  a  longing  looker-on 
from  the  outer  circle  that  the  slipping  away  was  the 
less  hard.  Ernestine  stopped  work  in  order  to 
care  for  her,  reproaching  herself  with  never  having 
been  able  to  give  to  her  mother  with  the  unrestraint 
and  bounteousness  she  had  given  to  her  work.  Dur 
ing  those  last  weeks  she  often  found  her  mother's 
eyes — sombre,  brooding  eyes — following  her  about 
the  room  like  the  spirit  of  unrest. 

"  Try  to  be  happy,  Ernestine,"  she  said,  when 
about  to  leave  the  house  in  which  she  had  ever  been 
a  stranger.  "  Life  is  so  awful  if  you  are  not  happy." 

She  took  her  back  to  the  little  town  and  put  her 
away  beside  the  man  with  whom  her  soul  had  never 
been  at  peace.  That  first  night  she  awakened  in 
the  dark  hours  and  fancied  she  heard  them  quarrel 
ling.  The  hideous  fancy  would  not  let  her  go  to 
sleep,  though  she  told  herself  over  and  over  that 
surely  death  would  bring  them  the  peace  life  had  so 
long  withheld. 

She  went  back  to  her  work  then  with  a  new  steadi 
ness  ;  loneliness  feeding  the  fire  of  consecration.  Often 


ERNESTINE  9 

when  alone  in  her  room  at  night  she  felt  those  dis 
appointed  eyes  following  her  about,  heard  again 
that  plaintive :  "  Try  to  be  happy,  Ernestine. 
Life  is  so  awful  if  you  are  not  happy."  She  had 
many  times  opened  the  book  in  which  her  mother 
copied  the  poems  written  at  intervals  during  the 
years,  but  always  would  come  the  feeling  of  their 
holding  something  at  which  it  would  be  hard  to  look. 
To-night,  with  her  new  understanding,  this  wondrous 
new  touchstone,  she  took  them  from  her  trunk  with 
eagerness.  She  longed  now  to  know  the  secret  of 
her  mother's  life;  she  would  know  why  happiness 
had  passed  her  by. 

There  was  tragedy  in  those  little  poems — a  soul's 
long  tragedy  in  their  halting  lines,  in  the  faltering 
breath  with  which  they  were  sung.  Indeed  they  were 
not  the  songs  of  a  poet  at  all;  they  were  but  the 
helpless  reaching  out  of  an  unsatisfied,  unanchored 
soul.  The  blackboard  had. never  given  back  what  it 
should;  the  crayon  would  not  write.  Was  it  true 
there  were  countless  souls  who  went  away  like  this 
— leaving  unsaid  a  word  they  had  craved  to  say? 

"  For  our  souls  were  not  in  tune  " — was  a  line  she 
found  in  one  of  the  verses  and  which  she  sat  a  long 
time  pondering.  Was  not  the  secret  of  it  here?  This 
the  rock  which  held  the  wreckage  of  their  lives? 

She  left  her  room  and  went  out  of  doors.  The 
night  was  very  still.  A  tender  peace  brooded  over 
the  world.  She  lifted  her  eyes  to  the  stars — her 
soul  to  the  great  Wonder.  Enveloping  her  was  Life 
— drawing  her  straight  to  the  heart  of  things  was 


10  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

Love.  Doubts  and  speculations  and  ominous  mem 
ories  seemed  blown  away  by  the  breath  of  the  night. 
The  years  had  no  lesson  to  teach  save  this — One 
must  love!  All  that  was  wrong  in  the  world  came 
through  too  little  loving.  All  that  was  great  and 
beautiful  sprang  from  love  which  knew  not  doubts 
nor  fears.  What  was  a  "  point  of  view  "  when  one 
throbbed  with  the  memory  of  his  good-bye  kiss! 

There  was  a  force  which  moved  the  world.  She 
was  in  the  grip  of  that  force  to-night.  All  else 
was  but  the  tiny  whirlpool  against  the  mighty  cur 
rent.  And  she  was  not  afraid.  Love  would  deal 
kindly  with  her  own.  She  lifted  her  soul  to  the 
great  Mother  and  Father  of  the  world.  "  Oh  take 
me  and  teach  me !  " — was  her  passionate  prayer. 


CHAPTER    H 
THE    LETTER 

WHAT  was  that  story  the  old  Greeks 
told  about  love  being  the  union — or 
reunion — of  the  two  halves  of  an  origi 
nally  perfect  whole?  The  envious  gods 
— who  were  a  very  bad  lot — cut  the  original  perfect 
being  in  two.  Then  love  is  a  finding  of  one's  own 
— also,  a  getting  ahead  of  the  gods.  I  have  more 
respect  for  the  old  Greeks  to-night  than  I  ever  had 
before!  But  you  cannot  know  just  how  it  is.  You 
are  younger  than  I,  and  I  do  not  believe  the  fear  of 
life  passing  you  by  ever  entered  and  chilled  your 
heart.  You  were  always  sure  it  was  coming  some 
time,  weren't  you,  my  new-found  little  one?  You 
could  not  have  had  that  calm,  sweet  look  in  those 
big  eyes  of  yours  had  you  feared  the  best  of  life 
might  be  withheld  from  you.  But  can  you  fancy 
what  it  would  mean  to  have  felt  for  many  years  that 
somewhere  there  was  a  cool,  sweet  spring  of  eternal 
joy,  and  to  become  fearful  your  footsteps  might 
never  lead  you  to  those  blessed  waters?  And  then 
can  you  fancy  the  profound  thankfulness  that  would 
fill  one's  being,  when  after  long  wandering,  after 
several  mistakes  and  disappointments,  the  music  of 

11 


12  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

those  waters  was  borne  to  the  ear?  And  when,  al 
most  fearful  to  believe,  and  yet  very,  very  sure,  one 
stepped  a  little  nearer,  can  you  fancy  the  joy  in 
finding  the  cooling  breeze  from  that  eternal  spring 
upon  one's  face,  of  seeing  it  there  as  one  had  ever 
dreamed  of  it,  knowing  that  beside  it  one  could  drink 
deep — long  and  very  deep — of  those  life-giving, 
soul-satisfying  waters?  Can  you  fancy  the  all-per 
vading  thankfulness,  almost  unbelievable  joy,  in  that 
first  hour  of  standing  beside  the  long-desired,  the 
half-despaired  of  water  of  life? 

"  Thank  God  I  was  not  weak  enough  to  resign  the 
whole  for  the  half!  There  was  once  a  voice  said  to 
me :  '  This  is  a  pretty  good  spring.  There  is  not 
much  chance  of  your  finding  the  other.  Why  not 
take  this  ?  '  But  something — your  voice  from  a  far 
distance? — called  me  on. 

"  A  strange  enough  letter  for  a  man  to  be  writing 
the  girl  who  has  just  promised  to  marry  him !  Con 
ventionally,  I  suppose,  I  should  say  to  you :  '  I 
never  knew  anything  like  this  before.'  And  instead 
I  am  saying :  '  There  was  something  once  of  some 
what  similar  exterior.  But  I  was  mistaken.  I  was 
disappointed.'  But  doesn't  this  make  you  see — 
dear  new  love — dear  real  love — how  happy  I  am,  and 
why? 

"  But  you  poor  little  girl — how  I've  cheated  you ! 
Why,  liebchen — God  bless  the  Germans  for  invent 
ing  that  name  for  you — you  were  entitled  to  weeks 
and  weeks  of  beautiful,  delicate  courtship.-  Will  you 
forgive  me  for  jumping  right  over  those  days  when  I 


THE    LETTER  13 

should  have  sent  you  roses  and  nice  pretty  notes,  and 
prepared  you  in  proper  and  approved  way  for  all  of 
this?  But  I  had  been  waiting  for  you  so  long  that 
when  I  found  you,  I  just  couldn't  wait  a  minute 
longer. 

"  And  it  was  Georgia — my  red-headed,  freckled, 
foolish  cousin  Georgia  did  this !  Why,  liebchen,  I'll 
take  my  oath  right  this  minute  Georgia  hasn't  a 
freckle!  I'm  even  willing — (oh  Lord,  am  I? — Yes, 
by  the  gods  I  am) — to  read  every  abominable  line 
she  writes  for  that  abominable  paper.  Am  I  an  in- 
grate?  Didn't  Georgia  bring  me  to  you? — and  is 
anything  too  much,  even  to  the  reading  of  her  stuff 
— yes,  by  Jove,  and  liking  it? 

"  Now  prepare  yourself  to  receive  the  sympathy 
of  every  one  you  know  when  you  tell  them  you  are 
going  to  marry  me.  Some  kind  of  divine  hallucina 
tion  is  upon  you,  acting  for  my  good,  and  you  do  not 
see  how  profoundly  you  are  to  be  pitied.  But  other 
people  will  see,  and  will  tell  you  about  it,  only  you 
will  think  they  are  under  a  hallucination,  which  is 
one  of  the  phases  of  yours.  The  truth  is  I  am  a 
grubbing  old  scientist.  I  prowl  around  in  labora 
tories  and  don't  know  much  of  anything  else,  and 
more  than  half  the  time  my  hands  are  stained  with 
unsesthetic  colours  you  won't  like  at  all.  And  they 
tell  me  I  have  a  foolish  way  of  sitting  and  thinking 
about  one  thing,  and  that  sometimes  I  don't  do 
things  I  say  I  am  going  to — meet  my  appointments 
and  things  like  that,  although  of  course  that  won't 
apply  to  you.  And  here  you  might  have  married 


14  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

some  artist  chap,  or  society  fellow  who  would  know 
all  about  the  proper  thing! 

"  But  never  mind,  poor  little  girl — I'll  make  it 
up  to  you.  You  may  miss  some  of  the  lesser,  but 
you'll  have  the  greater.  You'll  have  the  love  that 
enfolds  one's  whole  being — the  love  that  is  eternal. 
Yes,  dear — eternal.  The  mariner  has  his  compass, 
'the  astronomer  his  stars,  the  Swiss  peasant  has  his 
Alps — and  we  have  our  love.  It  must  mean  all  those 
eternal  things  to  us.  Don't  you  feel  that  it  will? 

"This  train  is  rushing  along  jostling  my  hand 
so  I  can  scarcely  write.  But  then  my  heart  is  rushing 
on  jostling  my  brain  so  I  can  scarcely  think,  so  per 
haps  my  handwriting  matches  my  thoughts. 

"  And  we'll  work !  We'll  work  to  prove  how  much 
we  love — is  there  better  reason  for  working  than 
that?  I  can  work  now  as  I  never  did  before,  for 
don't  I  want  to  prove  to  this  old  world  that  I  ap 
preciate  its  bringing  me  to  you?  And  you'll  teach 
me  about  this  art  of  yours,  won't  you,  my  little  girl 
with  the  long,  serious  name?  I'm  ignorant,  sweet 
heart,  I  don't  know  much  about  pictures,  but  don't 
you  think  that  I  can  learn?  Why,  liebchen,  I'm 
learning  already !  I  never  knew  what  they  meant  by 
lights  and  shadows  until  I  saw  your  face. 

"  But  tell  me,  how  does  it  happen  your  hair  grows 
back  from  your  temples  that  way?  Why,  no  one 
else's  hair  does  that.  And  where  did  you  learn  about 
tilting  your  chin  forward  like  that  and  looking 
straight  out  of  your  eyes  at  one  ?  It  is  so  strange — 
no  one  else  does  any  of  those  things.  I've  often 


THE   LETTER  15 

thought  of  the  many  things  in  science  I  do  not  under 
stand  and  never  will,  but  they  are  the  very  simplest 
things  imaginable  in  comparison  with  that  puzzling 
way  you  smile,  the  wonderful  way  your  face  lights 
up  when  you  are  happy. 

"  Are  you  looking  up  at  the  stars  ?  I  think  you 
are.  And  in  the  heavens  do  you  see  one  newly  dis 
covered,  unvanishable  star?  That  is  the  star  of  our 
love,  dear, — the  star  which  has  changed  heaven  and 
earth.  Are  you  dreaming  about  it  all? — Oh  but  I 
know  you  are.  I  will  fulfil  those  dreams,  dear  girl. 
I  have  waited  for  you  too  long,  I  prize  you  too  in 
estimably  not  to  consecrate  my  life  to  the  fulfilling 
of  those  dreams." 


CHAPTER    III 

KARL 

HE  was  one  of  the  men  who  go  before.  Out 
in  the  great  field  of  knowledge's  unsur- 
veyed  territory  he  worked — a  blazer  of 
the  trail,  a  voice  crying  from  the  wilder 
ness  :  "  I  have  opened  up  another  few  feet.  You 
can  come  now  a  little  farther."  Then  they  would 
come  in  and  take  possession,  soon  to  become  accus 
tomed  to  the  ground,  forgetting  that  only  a  little 
while  before  it  had  been  impassable,  scarcely  think 
ing  of  the  little  body  of  men  who  had  opened  the 
way  for  them,  and  now  were  out  farther,  where  again 
the  way  was  blocked,  trying  to  beat  down  a  few  more 
of  the  barriers,  open  up  a  little  more  of  that  untrod 
den  territory.  And  only  the  little  band  itself  would 
ever  know  how  stony  that  path,  how  deep  the  ditches, 
how  thick  and  thorny  the  underbrush.  "  Why  this 
couldn't  have  been  so  bad,"  the  crowd  said,  after 
it  had  flocked  in — "  strange  it  should  have  taken  so 
long!" 

Not  that  the  little  band  sought  popular  acclaim, 
or  desired  it.  "  Heavens !  "  he  had  once  exclaimed 
to  a  laboratory  assistant,  after  a  reporter  had  been 
vainly  trying  to  persuade  him  to  "  tell  the  whole 

16 


KARL  17 

story  of  his  work  in  popular  vein," — "  you  don't 
suppose  medical  research  is  going  to  become  a  draw 
ing-room  lap  dog ! " 

But  he  need  not  have  feared.  A  capricious  fancy 
might  rest  upon  them  for  the  minute,  but  the  big 
world  which  followed  along  behind  would  never  come 
into  any  complete  understanding  of  such  as  they.  In 
an  age  of  each  man  seeking  what  he  himself  can  gain, 
how  could  there  be  understanding  of  the  manner  of 
man  who  would  perhaps  work  all  of  his  lifetime 
only  to  put  up  at  the  end  the  sign-board :  "  Do  not 
take  this  road.  I  have  gone  over  it  and  found  it 
profitless."  Failure  is  not  the  name  they  give  to 
that.  They  say  his  wanderings  astray  brought  others 
that  much  nearer  to  the  goal. 

In  his  last  year  at  the  medical  school  one  of  his 
professors  had  put  it  to  him  like  this :  "  You  must 
make  your  choice.  It  is  certain  you  can  not  do  both. 
You  will  become  a  general  practitioner,  or  you  will 
go  into  the  research  work  for  which  you  have  shown 
aptitude  here.  I  am  confident  you  would  succeed  as 
a  surgeon.  In  that  you  would  make  more  money,  and, 
in  all  probability,  a  bigger  name.  That  is  certain. 
In  this  other,  you  take  your  chances.  But  if  I  were 
you,  I  would  do  whichever  I  cared  for  more." 

That  settled  it,  for  he  had  long  before  heard  the 
cry  from  the  unknown :  "  Come  out  and  take  us ! 
We  are  here — if  only  you  know  how  to  get  us." 
There  was  in  his  blood  that  which  thrilled  to  the 
thought  of  doing  what  had  not  been  done  before. 
With  the  abandonment  of  his  intense  and  rugged 


18  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

nature,  he  yielded  himself  to  the  delights  of  the  un« 
travelled  path. 

At  the  time  of  his  falling  in  love.  Dr.  Karl  Hubers 
was  thirty-nine  years  old.  He  had  worked  in  Euro 
pean  laboratories,  notably  the  Pasteur  Institute  of 
Paris,  and  among  men  of  his  kind  was  regarded  as 
one  to  be  reckoned  with.  Within  the  profession  his 
name  already  stood  for  vital  things,  and  it  was  asso 
ciated  now  with  one  of  the  big  problems,  the  solving 
of  v/hich  it  was  believed  this  generation  would  have  to 
its  credit.  The  scientific  and  medical  journals  were 
watching  him,  believing  that  when  the  great  victory 
was  won,  his  would  be  the  name  to  reach  round  the 
world. 

Three  years  before,  the  president  of  a  great  uni 
versity,  but  newly  sprung  up  by  the  side  of  a  great 
lake,  sitting  in  his  high  watch  tower  and  with  mam 
moth  spy-glass  looking  around  for  men  of  initiative 
in  the  intellectual  domain,  had  spied  Karl  Hubers, 
working  away  over  there  in  Europe.  This  man  of 
the  watch  tower  had  a  genius  for  perceiving  when 
a  man  stood  on  the  verge  of  great  celebrity,  and  so 
he  cried  out  now :  "  Come  over  and  do  some  teaching 
for  us!  We  will  give  you  just  as  good  a  laboratory 
as  you  have  there  and  plenty  of  time  for  your  own 
work."  Now,  while  he  would  be  glad  enough  to  have 
Dr.  Hubers  do  the  teaching,  what  he  wanted  most 
of  all  was  to  possess  him,  so  that  in  the  day  of  victory 
that  young  giant  of  a  university  would  rise  up  with 
the  peon:  "See!  We  have  done  it!"  And  Dr. 
Hubers,  lured  by  the  promise  of  time  and  facility  for 


KARL  19 

liis  own  work,  liking  what  lie  knew  of  the  young  uni 
versity,  had  come  over  and  established  himself  in 
Chicago. 

In  those  three  years  he  had  not  been  disappointing. 
He  had  contributed  steadily  to  the  sum  of  the  pro 
fession's  knowledge,  for  he  worked  in  little  by-paths 
as  well  as  on  his  central  thing,  and  he  himself  felt, 
though  he  said  but  little,  that  he  was  coming  nearer 
and  nearer  the  goal  he  had  set  for  himself. 

His  place  in  the  university  was  an  enviable  one. 
The  enthusiasm  of  the  students  for  him  quite  reached 
the  borderland  of  reverence.  To  get  some  work  in 
Dr.  Hubers'  laboratory  was  regarded,  among  the 
scientific  students,  as  the  triumph  of  a  whole  univer 
sity  career.  And  it  was  those  students  who  worked 
as  his  assistants  who  came  to  know  the  fine  fibre  of 
the  man.  They  could  tell  best  the  real  story  of  his 
work.  They  it  was  who  told  him  when  he  must  go 
to  his  classes  and  when  he  must  go  to  his  meals,  who 
kept  him,  in  times  of  complete  surrender  to  his  idea, 
in  so  much  of  touch  with  the  world  about  him  as  they 
felt  a  necessity.  Their  hearts  beat  with  his  heart 
when  a  little  of  the  way  was  cleared;  their  spirits 
sank  in  disappointment  as  they  lived  with  him  through 
the  days  of  depression.  And  as  they  came  day  by  day 
to  know  of  the  honesty  of  his  mind,  the  steadfast 
ness  of  his  purpose,  to  feel  that  flame  which  glowed 
within  him,  they  fairly  spoke  his  name  in  different 
voice  from  that  used  for  other  things,  and  when  they 
told  their  stories  of  his  eccentricities,  it  was  with  a 
tenderness  in  their  humour,  never  as  though  blurring 


20  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

his  greatness,  but  rather  as  if  his  very  little  weak 
nesses  and  foibles  set  him  apart  from  and  above 
every  one  else. 

Generations  before,  his  ancestors  up  there  in  North 
Europe  had  swept  things  before  them  with  a  mighty 
hand.  With  defeat  and  renunciation  they  did  not 
reckon.  If  they  loved  a  woman,  they  picked  her  up 
and  took  her  away.  And  civilisation  has  not  quite 
washed  the  blood  of  those  men  from  the  earth.  Ger 
many  gave  to  Karl  Hubers  something  more  than  a 
scholar's  mind.  At  any  rate,  he  did  a  very  unap- 
proved  and  most  uncivilised  thing.  When  he  fell 
in  love  and  decided  he  wanted  to  marry  Ernestine 
Stanley,  and  that  he  wanted  to  take  her  right  over 
to  Europe  and  show  her  the  things  he  loved  there, 
he  asked  for  his  year's  leave  of  absence  before  he 
went  to  find  out  whether  Miss  Stanley  was  kindly 
disposed  to  the  idea  of  marrying  him.  Now  why  he 
did  that,  it  is  not  possible  to  state,  but  the  thing 
proving  him  quite  hopeless  as  a  civilised  product  is 
that  it  never  struck  him  there  was  anything  so  very 
peculiar  in  his  order  of  procedure. 

His  assistants  had  to  do  a  great  deal  of  reminding 
after  he  came  back  that  week,  and  they  never  knew 
until  afterwards  that  his  abstraction  was  caused  by 
something  quite  different  from  germs.  They  thought 
— unknowing  assistants — that  he  was  on  a  new  trail, 
and  judged  from  the  expression  of  his  face  that  it 
was  going  to  prove  most  productive. 


CHAPTER    IV 
FACTS   AND    "HIGHER   TRUTH " 

MR.  BEASON,"  said  Georgia  McCormick, 
looking   across   the   dinner  table   at  the 
new  student  who  had  come  to  live  with 
them — almost  every  one  who  lived  around 
the  university  had  "  students  "  — "  if  you  had  a  dear 
cousin  who  had  married  a  dear  friend,  if  said  dear 
cousin  and  dear  friend  had  gone  skipping  away  to 
Europe,  and  for  one  year  and  a  half  had  flitted  gayly 
from  country  to  country,  looking  into  each  other's 
eyes  and  murmuring  sweet  nothings  all  the  while  that 
you  had  been  earning  your  daily  bread  by  telling 
daily  untruths  for  a  daily  paper,  if  at  the  end  of  said 
period  said  cousin  and  friend,  forced  by  a  steadily 
diminishing  bank  account  to  return  to  the  stern  neces 
sities   of  life,  had  written   you   a  nonchalant   little 
note    telling   you    to    '  look    up    a    place    for    them 
to  lay  their  heads  ' — which  being  translated  in  terms 
of  action  meant  that  you  were  to  walk  the  streets 
looking  for  vacant  houses  when  vacant  houses  there 
were  none — if  this  combination  of  circumstances  be 
fell  you,  Mr.   Beason — just  what  would  you  do?" 
Beason  pondered  the  matter  carefully.     Mr.  Bea 
son   applied  the   scientific  method  to  everything  in 
life,  and  was  not  one  to  commit  himself  rashly. 
"  I  think,"  he  announced,  weightily,  "  that  I  would 
21 


22  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

tell  them  to  go  to  a  hotel  and  stay  there  until  they 
could  look  up  their  own  house." 

"  But  Mr.  Beason,"  she  rambled  on,  eyes  twinkling 
— Georgia  had  decided  this  young  man  needed  "  wak 
ing  up  " — "  suppose  you  loved  them  both  very  dearly 
— suppose  they  were  positively  the  dearest  people 
who  ever  walked  the  earth — and  that  breaking  your 
neck  for  them  was  the  greatest  pleasure  life  could 
confer  upon  you — what  would  you  do  then?  " 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  said  Beason,  bluntly ;  "  I 
never  loved  any  one  that  dearly." 

"  'Tis  better  to  love  and  break  one's  neck," — began 
Harry  Wyman,  who  aspired  to  the  position  of  class 
poet. 

"  If  you  had  ever  known  Ernestine  and  Karl," — a 
tenderness  creeping  into  Georgia's  voice — "  you'd  be 
almost  willing  to  hunt  houses  for  them.  Almost,  I 
say — for  I  doubt  if  any  affection  on  earth  should 
be  put  to  the  house-hunting  test.  Even  my  cousin 
Dr.  Karl  Hubers " 

"  Your — cousin?  " — Beason  broke  in.  "  Your — f  " 
— in  telling  the  story  Georgia  always  spoke  of  the 
unflattering  emphasis  on  the  final  your.  But  at 
the  time  she  could  think  of  nothing  save  the  trans 
formed  face  of  John  Beason.  The  instantaneousness 
with  which  he  had  waked  up  was  fairly  grewsome. 
He  was  looking  straight  at  Georgia;  all  three  were 
held  by  his  manner. 

"  Now  my  dear  Mr.  Beason,"  she  laughed  finally, 
"  don't  be  so  hard  on  us.  My  mother  and  Dr.  Hu 
bers'  mother  were  sisters,  but  please  don't  rub  it  in 


FACTS    AND    "HIGHER    TRUTH"        23 

so  unmercifully  that  poor  mother  has  been  altogether 
distanced  in  the  matter  of  offspring.  You  see  mother 
married  an  Irish  politician — hence  me.  While  Aunt 
Katherine — Karl's  mother — married  a  German 
scholar — therefore  Karl.  And  the  German  scholar 
was  the  son  of  a  German  professor.  In  fact,  from 
all  I  have  been  led  to  believe  the  Hubers  were  busily 
engaged  in  the  professoring  business  at  the  time 
Julius  Caesar  stalked  up  from  Italy." 

"  Now  Georgia,"  hastened  Mrs.  McCormick  earn 
estly,  "  this  newspaper  work  gives  you  such  a  ten 
dency  to  exaggerate.  I  never  heard  it  said  before 
that  the  family  went  that  far  back." 

"  Perhaps  not.  But  just  because  a  thing  has  never 
been  said  before,  isn't  there  all  the  more  reason  for 
saying  it  now?  And  I'm  just  trying  to  make  Mr. 
Beason  understand  "  — demurely — "  why  some  people 
are  scholars  and  others  are  not." 

But  Beason's  mind  was  working  straight  from  the 
shoulder. 

"Does  he  ever  come  here?"  he  demanded. 

'  Yes,  indeed ;  he  honours  our  poor  board  quite 
often  with  the  light  of  his  countenance." 

Beason  accepted  that  as  unextravagant  statement 
of  fact. 

"Well,  do  you — know  about  him?"  he  asked, 
bluntly. 

"That  he's  'way  up?  Oh,  my,  yes.  And  we're 
tremendously  proud  of  him." 

"  I  should  think  you  would  be,"  said  Beason,  rather 
grimly. 


24  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

"  Karl  is  indeed  remarkable,"  said  Mrs.  McCor- 
mick,  blandly  expansive,  well  pleased  with  both  Karl 
and  her  own  appreciation  of  him.  "  I  feel  that  our 
family  has  much  to  be  proud  of,  to  think  both  he 
and  Georgia  have  done  so  well  with  their  work." 

The  expression  of  Season's  face  was  a  study. 
Georgia  laughed  over  it  for  weeks  afterwards. 

"  Now  my  chief  interest,"  said  Wyman,  who  was  at 
the  stage  where  he  put  life  in  capital  letters,  and 
cherished  harmless  ideas  about  his  own  deep  under 
standing  of  the  human  heart,  "  is  in  Mrs.  Hubers. 
There,  I  fancy," — it  was  his  capital  letter  voice — "  is 
a  woman  who  understands." 

"  A  dandy  girl,"  said  Georgia,  briskly. 

"  She  has  the  artistic  temperament  ?  "  he  pursued. 

"  Oh,  not  disagreeably  so,"  she  retorted. 

"  You  see,"  turning  to  Beason,  who  was  plainly 
impatient  at  this  shifting  to  anything  so  irrelevant 
as  a  wife,  "  I  play  quite  a  leading  part  in  Dr.  Hubers' 
life.  I'm  his  cousin — that's  the  accident  of  birth; 
but  I  handed  over  to  him  his  wife,  for  which  he  owes 
me  undying  gratitude.  I'm  looking  for  something 
really  splendid  from  Europe." 

"  I  wish  I  hadn't  gone  home  so  early  that  spring," 
sighed  Wyman.  "  I'd  like  to  have  seen  that  little 
affair.  It  must  have  been  the  real  thing  in  romance." 

"  But  it  was  nothing  of  the  sort !  It  was  the 
most  disgraceful  thing  I  ever  had  anything  to  do 
with." 

"  Now  Georgia,"  protested  her  mother,  "  you  know 
you  are  so  apt  to  be  misunderstood." 


FACTS    AND    "HIGHER    TRUTH"        25 

"  Well  I  couldn't  be  misunderstood  about  this !  Oh, 
it  was  awful ! — the  suddenness  of  it,  you  know.  You 
see  Miss  Stanley  was  an  old  college  friend  of  mine. 
In  fact,  I  roomed  at  their  house," — she  paused  and 
seemed  to  be  thinking  of  other  things — serious  things. 
"  A  year  ago  last  spring,"  she  went  on,  "  Ernestine 
stopped  here  on  her  way  home  from  New  York.  Her 
parents  had  died,  but  an  old  aunt  lived  in  their  house, 
and  she  was  going  to  see  her.  I  had  always  told  her 
about  Karl,  but  she  had  never  met  him,  because  when 
Ernestine  and  I  were  together  so  much,  he  was  in 
Europe.  So  I  wanted  her  to  meet  him — well,  prin 
cipally  because  he  was  a  good  deal  of  a  celebrity, 
and  I  thought  it  would  be  nice.  I'll  be  real  honest 
and  confess  it  never  occurred  to  me  there  would  be 
anything  exciting  doing.  Well,  Karl  didn't  want  to 
come.  First  he  said  he  would,  and  then  he  telephoned 
he  was  busy.  So  I  just  went  over  to  the  laboratory 
and  got  him.  I  told  him  he  was  expected,  and  if  he 
didn't  come,  mother  and  I  never  would  forgive  him. 
He  washed  his  hands  and  came  along,  grumbling  all 
the  way  about  how  one's  relatives  interfered  with 
one's  life — oh,  Karl  and  I  are  tremendously  frank, 
and  then  when  he  got  here — well,  I'll  just  leave  it  to 
mother." 

"  He  did  seem  to  be  greatly  impressed  with 
Georgia's  friend."  said  Mrs.  McCormick,  consciously 
conservative. 

"  I  never  saw  him  act  so  stupid !  Oh,  but  I  was  mad 
at  him!  I  wanted  him  to  talk  about  Europe  and  be 
brilliant,  but  he  didn't  do  anything  but  sit  and  look 


26  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

at  Ernestine.  Fact  of  the  matter  is,  Ernestine  doesn't 
look  quite  like  the  rest  of  us.  At  least  Karl  thought 
she  didn't,  and  evidently  he  made  up  his  mind  then 
and  there  he  was  going  to  have  her.  Ernestine  left 
Chicago  sooner  than  he  thought  she  was  going  to, 
and  what  does  he  do  but  go  after  her — and  get  her ! 
You  see,  all  of  Karl's  ancestors  weren't  meek  and 
gentle  scholars  and  wise  professors.  Lots  of  them 
were  soldiers  and  bloodthirsty  brigands,  and  those 
are  the  ones  he  brags  about  most  and  in  spite  of  his 
mind,  and  all  that,  those  are  the  ones  he  is  most  like. 
I  suppose  it  was  in  the  blood  to  get  what  he  wanted. 
I'm  sure  I  don't  know  how  he  did  it.  Lots  of  men  had 
wanted  Ernestine,  and  she  had  the  caring-for-her- 
art  notion — she's  made  good  tremendously,  you  know 
—but  art  took  a  back  seat  when  Dr.  Hubers  arrived 
on  the  scene.  That's  all  there  is  to  it.  I  wouldn't 
call  it  a  romance.  It  was  more  in  the  line  of  a  hop, 
skip  and  jump." 

She  had  pushed  back  her  chair  a  little,  but  laughed 
now,  reminiscently. 

"Oh  it  was  just  too  funny!  Some  of  it  was  too 
rich  to  keep.  Karl  came  here  the  day  after  he  re 
turned — wanted  to  hear  me  talk  of  Ernestine,  you 
know.  People  in  love  aren't  exactly  versatile  in  their 
conversation.  I  did  talk  about  her  for  two  hours, 
and  then  I  ventured  to  change  the  subject.  'Karl,' 
I  said,  'what  do  you  think  of  the  colour  they're 
painting  the  new  Fifty-seventh  Street  station?' 

"  He  had  been  sitting  there  in  rapt  silence  and 
he  looked  up  at  me  with  a  seraphic,  far-away  smile. 


FACTS    AND    "HIGHER    TRUTH"        27 

*  Colour,'  he  said,  dreamily,  '  was  there  ever  such  a 
colour  before?  ' 

"  '  There  certainly  never  was,'  I  replied,  meaning 
of  course  the  brick  red  of  the  aforesaid  station. 

" '  That  divine  brown,'  he  pursued,  *  that  soft, 
dark,  liquid  brown  of  unfathomable  depth!'  Now 
there,"  nodding  laughingly  at  Beason,  "  you  have 
a  sample  of  the  great  Dr.  Hubers'  mighty  intellect." 

Beason  hovered  around,  hoping  for  a  few  more 
stray  words,  but  as  Harry  Wyman  and  Georgia  were 
talking  about  some  foolish  newspaper  affairs,  he 
went  to  his  room  and  tried  to  settle  down  to  work. 

A  half  hour  later  Wyman,  who  had  also  gone  in 
to  do  a  little  studying,  came  out  to  where  Georgia 
was  looking  over  the  other  evening  papers. 

"  Say,"  he  laughed,  "  you've  got  to  do  something 
for  that  fellow  in  there — he's  crazy  as  a  loon.  You've 
got  him  all  stirred  up,  and  if  you  don't  go  in  and 
get  him  calmed  down  he  won't  sleep  a  wink  to-night, 
and  neither  will  I.  He  says  Dr.  Hubers  is  the  great 
est  man  in  the  world.  He  says  he  won't  except  any 
body — no,  sir,  not  a  living  human  soul!  He's  been 
walking  up  and  down  the  floor  talking  about  it. 
Gee!  you  ought  to  hear  him.  He  says  he  came  to 
this  university  on  purpose  to  get  some  work  with 
Dr.  Hubers,  that  his  life  will  be  ruined  if  he  doesn't 
get  it,  and  that  he's  going  to  make  all  kinds  of  a  ten- 
strike,  if  he  does.  And  you  can't  laugh  at  the  fel 
low,  for  he's  just  dead  down  in  earnest!  He  wanted 
me  to  come  out  here  and  ask  you  some  questions — I 
can't  remember  'em  straight.  How  he  worked^ 


28  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

whether  he  was  approachable.  Oh,  he  fired  them  at 
me  thick.  Say  now,  he  would  appreciate  it,  if  you'd 
just  go  in  and  give  him  a  little  talk  about  your 
cousin.  Kind  of  serious  talk,  you  know.  Why,  he'd 
just  hang  on  every  word." 

And  Georgia,  laughing — Georgia  was  strongly  ad 
dicted  to  laughing — said  if  there  was  any  man  ready 
to  hang  upon  her  every  word,  that  she,  being  twenty- 
seven  and  prospectless,  must  not  let  him  get  away. 

She  told  Beason  many  things — some  of  them  facts 
and  some  of  them  "higher  truth,"  Georgia  holding 
that  things  which  ought  to  be  true  were  higher  truth. 
She  told  him  how  Karl  had  tried  to  burn  down  his 
father's  house,  when  a  very  small  boy,  to  see  if  some 
thing  somebody  had  said  about  fire  was  true,  how  he 
dissected  a  strange  and  wonderful  bird  which  came 
to  the  house  on  a  visitor's  hat,  how  he  inspired  a 
whole  crew  of  small  boys  to  run  away  from  home  as 
explorers,  how  he  whipped  a  bigger  boy  most  unmer 
cifully  for  calling  the  Germans  big  fools.  Georgia 
arranged  for  her  cousin  what  she  called  a  thoroughly 
consistent  childhood.  And  then  some  less  high  truth 
about  his  working  his  way  through  college,  getting 
money  enough  to  go  abroad,  his  absolute  forgetful- 
ness  of  everything  when  immersed  in  work — facts  and 
higher  truth  tallied  here. 

"  Karl's  queer,"  she  said.  "  He's  roasted  a  good 
deal  by  the  academic  folks — pooh-hoos  a  lot  of  their 
stuff,  you  know.  He  seems  to  have  a  strange  notion 
that  science,  learning,  the  whole  business  is  for  hu 
manity.  Unique  conception,  isn't  it  ?  " 


FACTS    AND    "HIGHER    TRUTH" 

After  she  went  away,  Beason  said  he  had  no  doubt 
that  when  one  came  to  know  Miss  McCormick,  he 
would  see,  in  spite  of  her  lightness  of  manner,  that 
she  had  many  fine  qualities. 

"  Qualities  !  "  burst  forth  the  enthusiastic  Wyman. 

«  Say you  just  ought  to  hear  the  newspaper  fellows 

talk  about  Georgia  McCormick!  I  tell  you  she's  a 
peach,  and  more  than  that,  she's  a  brick.  She's  the 
divide-her-last-penny  kind — Georgia  McCormick  is. 
And  I  want  you  to  know  that  if  ever  any  one  had  the 
joy  of  living  stunt  down  pat,  she's  it.  It's  an  honest 
fact  that  if  she  was  put  in  the  penitentiary  and  you 
went  to  see  her  after  she'd  been  there  awhile,  she'd 
tell  you  so  many  funny  and  interesting  things  about 
the  pen.  that  you'd  feel  sore  to  think  you  weren't  in 
yourself.  And  smart?  And  a  hustler?  Well,  her 
paper's  done  some  fool  things,  but  it's  had  sense  to 
hold  on  to  her  all  right-all  right." 

And  Beason  replied  that  of  course  Dr.   Hubersf 
cousin  was  bound  to  be  smart. 


CHAPTER    V 

THE    HOME-COMING 

YES,  suh,  Chicago  only  two  hours,  suh,"  and 
the  porter  smiled  broadly.  There  was  both 
memory  and  anticipation  in  that  smile. 

The  car  was  almost  empty.  Across  the 
aisle  a  man  slept  peacefully ;  a  little  farther  ahead  a 
young  lady  read  of  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  a  knight 
and  his  lady  who  had  lived  some  several  hundred  years 
before,  and  still  farther  on  a  lady  all  in  black  was 
looking  from  the  window,  evidently  lost  to  sorrows 
of  more  recent  date.  As  no  one  was  paying  any  at 
tention  to  the  man  and  woman  back  there  in  the 
rear  of  the  car  it  was  perfectly  safe,  when  the  porter 
passed  on,  for  her  hand  to  slip  over  into  his. 

He  responded  with  that  quiet,  protecting  smile 
which  always  made  it  seem  no  bad  thing  could  ever 
come  to  her. 

"  Almost  home,  dear,"  he  said,  and  then  for  a  long 
time  neither  of  them  spoke.  Many  big  forces  flowed 
freely  into  the  silence  of  that  moment. 

She  looked  up  .  at  him  at  last  with  a  smile  which 
broke  from  her  seriousness  as  a  ripple  breaks  from 
a  wave. 

"  Suppose  we  had  to  say  everything  in  words ! " 

"  Suppose  we  had  to  walk  on  one  leg !  " 
30 


THE    HOME-COMING  31 

"  Oh,  but  that— you  know,  Karl,  it's  a  little  like 
the  rivers  and  the  ocean.  The  words  are  the  rivers 
flowing  into  the  ocean  of  silence.  Rivers  flow  into 
oceans— but  do  they  make  them?  And  then  the  ocean 
gives  back  to  the  rivers  in  the  things  which  it  breathes 
out.  There  are  so  many  reasons  why  it  seems  like 

that." 

"Ernestine,  where  did  you  get  all  this? 
times  think  I'm  not  square  with  you  at  all.     Why, 
I've  been  in  all  those  places  before !    I  saw  the  Bay 
of  Naples  long  before  I  ever  saw  you — and  yet  ] 
didn't  really  see  it  before  at  all.     Don't  you   see? 
Eyes   and    appreciation    and    every    decent   thing   I 
take  from  you.     Where  did  you  get  it  all,  Ernes 
tine?  " 

She  pushed  back  a  little  curl  which  was  always 
coming  loose,— he  loved  that  little  curl  for  always 
coming  loose. 

"  Perhaps  I  '  got  it '  from  that  way  you  have  of 
looking  at  me — the  way  you're  looking  at  me  now ; 
or  maybe  I  got  it  from  the  way  you  say  '  Ernestine  ' 
—the  way  you  said  it  just  now.  But  does  it  matter 
much  what  comes  from  which?"— with  which  bit 
of  lucidity  she  wrinkled  up  her  nose  at  him  in  a  way 
which  always  vanquished  argument  and  returned  to 
the  silence  which  seemed  waiting  to  claim  her. 

He  watched  her  then;  he  loved  so  to  ,do  that- 
just  see  how  far  he  could  follow.     Ernestine  seemed 
to  draw  things  to  her  in  a  way  very  wonderful  ,to 

him. 

"You   know,  liebchen," — as   he   saw  that   steady 


32  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

light  of  resolution  shine  through  the  veil  of  her  ten 
derness — "  it  seems  so  queer  to  me  that  you  really  do 
anything." 

"  Well  for  a  neatly  turned  compliment " 

"  I  mean  it  seems  so  queer  you  should  really  amount 
to  anything." 

"  Now  before  you  overwhelm  me  with  further 
adulation,  what  are  you  talking  about  ?  " 

"  I'm  talking  about  your  being  an  artist.  I  can't 
get  used  to  your  being  anything  but  Ernestine! 
That  day  last  spring  when  we  went  to  see  your 
Salon  picture,  and  when  those  chaps  were  talking  to 
you,  and  I  realised  that  they  just  simply  accepted 
you  as  one  of  them — that  you  belonged,  and  that  that 
was  all  there  was  about  it — I,  oh  I  had  such  a  funny 
feeling  that  day.  And  now,  a  minute  ago,  when  I 
saw  that  look,  I  had  it  again." 

"Why,  Karl,  you  don't  mind,  do  you?" 

"  No,  it's  just  that  it  seems  queer.  You  see  you're 
such  a  wonderful  sweetheart,  it's  hard  to  think  of 
you  as  anything  else.  I'll  never  forget  that  day  over 
there.  Something  just  seemed  to  leap  up  within  you. 
I — well  I  think  I  was  a  little  scared — or  was  I  awed? 
Something  that  was  shining  from  your  eyes  made 
me  feels  things  in  my  backbone." 

"  But  you're  glad?  "  she  laughed. 

"  Of  course  I'm  glad ;  and  I'm  proud.  But  it's— 
queer." 

She  smiled  at  him  understandingly ;  the  understand- 
ingness  of  her  smile  always  went  beyond  her  words. 
It  was  a  beautiful  face  upon  which  he  watched  the 


THE    HOME-COMING  33 

play  of  lights,  saw  the  changing  currents  of  thought 
and  dreams  and  purpose.  But  the  thing  most  rare 
in  it,  that  which  made  one  quite  forget  accepted 
standards,  was  the  steadfastness  with  which  a  certain 
great  light  shone  through  the  aura  of  her  tenderness. 
There  were  moments  in  which  she  transcended  both 
her  beauty  and  her  beauty's  weaknesses. 

As  the  flower  to  the  sun,  naturally,  quietly,  in 
evitably,  she  had  expanded  under  the  breath  of  life. 
With  the  fulness  of  a  rich  nature  she  had  responded 
to  the  touch  of  the  spirit  of  living.  Love  loved  her 
for  what  she  had  been  able  to  take. 

And  in  the  year  which  had  passed,  life,  with  tender 
rather  than  defacing  lines,  had  put  upon  her  face  the 
touch  of  sorrow.  Europe  meant  more  to  her  than  an 
Old  World  civilisation,  more  than  tradition,  beauty 
or  art.  It  even  meant  more  than  the  place  where 
she  had  spent  those  first  dear  months  of  her  love. 
It  meant  to  her  the  place  where  she  had  hoped  with 
woman's  dearest  hope,  and  where  she  had  given  up 
the  child  which  should  have  been  hers.  Her  tender- 
est,  deepest  thoughts  were  not  of  the  wonders  and 
beauties  she  had  seen ;  they  were  of  the  dreams  within, 
of  the  holy  happiness  of  first  knowledge,  and  then 
the  grief  in  giving  up  the  much  desired,  which  she 
had  known  only  in  anticipation.  The  most  cherished 
memories  of  their  love  were  memories  of  those  days  in 
which  he  had  comforted  her,  of  the  tenderness  with 
which  he  had  consoled,  the  strength  with  which  he  had 
upheld.  Those  hours  had  reached  far  into  her  soul, 
deepening  it,  giving  her,  as  if  in  compensation,  new 


3'4    THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

channels  for  love,  new  understanding  of  those  inner 
most  things  of  life.  But  in  those  first  days,  even 
while  the  soul  of  the  woman  was  deepening,  the 
bruised  heart  was  as  the  heart  of  a  child.  It  was  as 
a  child  she  had  been  to  him  in  those  days,  and  he  had 
comforted  her  as  one  would  comfort  an  idolised  child, 
whose  hurt  one  strove  to  take  wholly  unto  one's 
self.  The  memory  of  those  hours  knit  them  together 
as  no  other  thing  could  have  done. 

Looking  down  at  her  face  now  he  saw  that  look 
he  had  come  to  know — that  far-away,  frightened., 
wistful  look.  Very  gently  he  laid  his  hand  upon  her 
knee. 

"  I  am  going  to  make  you  so  happy.  Life  is  going 
to  be  so  beautiful,"  he  said. 

She  smiled  at  him,  but  the  tears  were  in  it. 

"  Yes,  Karl — I  know.  But  now  that  we  are  coming 
home — together — alone,  doesn't  it  seem ' 

He  turned  away.     The  man  had  suffered  too. 

"  And  we  are  leaving  it  over  there — over  there, 
alone — away  from  us — the  life  that  should  have 
been " 

With  that  he  turned  resolutely  back  to  her. 

"  Ernestine,  isn't  there  another  way  to  look  at 
it?  It  came  of  our  love,  and  now,  dear,  it  has  gone 
back  into  our  love.  It  isn't  something  apart  from  us, 
• — something  gone.  We  have  taken  it  back  unto  our 
selves.  It  is  here  with  us. »  The  greater  love  we  have 
• — that  is  it,  dear." 

The  flame  of  understanding  leaped  quickly  to  her 
eves. 


THE    HOME-COMING  35 

"  Oh,  I  like  that  Karl,"  she  whispered.  "  I  like 
that  better  than  anything  you  ever  said." 

She  turned  then  and  looked  from  the  window. 
Across  the  fields,  over  near  the  horizon,  she  could  see 
a  little  house.  The  smoke  was  curling  from  the  chim 
ney.  The  autumn  twilight  had  come  on  and  they 
had  lighted  the  lamp.  A  bit  of  home!  The  tears 
came  to  her  eyes — tears  of  tender  anticipation.  She 
too  was  to  make  a  home.  And  was  it  not  good  to 
think  that  smoke  was  coming  from  many  chimneys 
and  many  lamps  were  being  lighted?  Was  it  not 
good  to  feel  that  the  dear  world  was  full  of 
homes  ? 

To  the  man  this  coming  back  to  Chicago,  return 
ing  to  his  work  after  the  year  and  a  half  he  had  been 
away,  was  charged  with  a  happy  significance.  As 
they  drew  nearer  and  nearer,  an  impatience  possessed 
him  to  begin  at  once;  that  desire  of  the  worker  to 
start  in  immediately.  He  had  worked  some  over  there, 
had  done  a  few  things  which  were  most  satisfactory, 
but  he  wanted  now  to  settle  down  to  actual  work  in 
his  old  place, 'with  his  own  things.  He  fell  to  wonder 
ing  if  they  had  changed  the  laboratory,  resentful 
at  the  possibility. 

"  Why  look  here,  Ernestine,"  he  suddenly  burst 
forth, 'turning  to  her  eagerly,  "  to-morrow's  a  school 
day,  we're  late  getting  home,  everything  is  in  swing 
—they're  waiting  for  me,  and,  by  Jove,  I  can  just 
as  well  as  not  begin  to-morrow !  " 

A  woman  who  never  made  one  feel  things  in  one's 
backbone  might  have  resented  the  quick,  eager 


36  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

plunge  into  work,  but  Ernestine  knew  the  love  of 
work  herself ,  and  her  eyes  brightened  to  his  spirit. 

"  But  dear  me,  Karl,"  after  a  second's  hesitation, 
"  it  seems  you  should  take  a  day  or  two  first." 

"Why?"  he  demanded. 

"  Well,"— vaguely— "  to  get  rested  up." 

"  Rested  up ! "  He  stretched  forth  his  arm  and 
then  doubled  it  back,  and  they  both  laughed.  "  That's 
a  joke — my  getting  rested  up.  Why  I  feel  like  a 
fighting  cock ! " 

"  And  crazy  to  get  to  work?  " 

"  Getting  that  way.  Oh,  I  tell  you,  Ernestine, 
there's  nothing  like  it." 

Again  she  did  not  mind;  she  understood.  She 
looked  at  his  glowing  face,  all  alight  with  enthusiasm 
for  the  work  to  which  he  was  going  back.  She  was 
never  tired  of  thinking  how  Karl's  face  was  just 
what  Karl's  face  should  be — reflective  of  a  clear-cut, 
far-seeing,  deeply  comprehending  mind.  It  seemed 
all  written  there — all  those  things  of  mind  and  char 
acter,  and  something  too  of  those  other  things — the 
things  which  were  for  her  alone.  Ernestine  held  that 
one  could  tell  by  looking  at  Karl  that  he  was  doing 
some  great  thing. 

"  But  see  here,  Dr.  Hubers,  a  nice  way  you  have 
of  shirking  your  domestic  duties !  Who  is  going  to 
help  me  settle  this  famous  house  Georgia  tells 
about?  " 

"  I'll  do  it  at  night,"  he  protested  eagerly.  "  I'll 
work  every  night  until  the  house  is  spick  and  span." 

Ernestine  sighed.     "  I  have  a  sad  feeling  that  our 


THE    HOME-COMING  37 

house  never  will  be  spick  and  span.     But  we'll  have 
some  fun," — eagerly — "  fixing  it  up." 

"  Of  course  we'll  have  fun  fixing  it  up !  Georgia's 
sure  to  be  on  hand,  and  I'll  make  old  Parkman  get 
busy  too — do  him  good." 

"  I  don't  care  about  knowing  a  lot  of  men " 

"  Well  I  should  hope  not !  " 

"  You  didn't  let  me  finish.  I  was  going  to  say  that 
Dr.  Parkman  is  one  man  I  do  want  to  know." 

"You'll  like  Parkman;  and  he'll  like  you.  By 
Jove,  he's  got  to !  You  mustn't  mind  if  he  snaps  your 
head  off  occasionally.  His  life's  made  him  savage, 
but  even  his  life — he's  had  an  awful  one,  Ernestine 
— couldn't  make  him  vicious.  He's  the  gruffest, 
snarliest,  biggest  man  I  ever  knew — meaner  than 
the  devil,  and  the  best  friend  on  top  of  earth.  And 
Lord,  how  he  works!  I  don't  know  any  other  three 
men  could  swing  the  same  load.  And  I  'tell  you, 
Ernestine,  he's  great.  There's  not  a  better  surgeon 
in  all  Europe.  Parkman's  a  tremendous  help  to  me. 
Oh,  it's  going 'to  be  great  to  get  back!  " 

"  We  have  some  really  nice  things  for  our  house," 
mused  Ernestine.  "  I'm  glad  we  decided  to  take  that 
rug  for  the  library.  Of  course  it  seemed  pretty 
high,  but  a  library  without  a  nice  rug  wouldn't  do 
at  all — not  for  us." 

"  No — that's  right — library  without  a  rug — now 
I  wonder  if  I  am  to  have  my  old  eight  o'clock  lecture 
hour?  I  want  that  hour!  I  want  to  get  all  the 
school  business  out  of  the  way  in  the  morning.  I 
must  have  plenty  of  uninterrupted  time  for  myself. 


38  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Ernestine,  I'm  going  to  get  it ! 
What  I  saw  over  there  of  the  other  fellows  makes  me 
all  the  more  sure  of  myself.  And  coming  back  now 
after  being  made  all  over  new — you  see  there's  such 
a  thing  as  inspiration  in  my  work,  just  as  there  is 
in  yours.  Of  course  it's  work — work — work,  work 
your  way  through  this  and  that,  but  there's  some 
thing  or  other  that  leads  you  on — and  I  know  I'm 
going  to  do  something  now !  " 

"  I  know  it  too,  Karl,"  she  responded,  and  the 
steadfastness  shone  strong  through  the  tenderness 
now.  "  We  all  know  it." 

"  I've  got  to,"  he  murmured — "  got  to."  And  then 
his  whole  mind  seized  upon  it;  some  suggestion  had 
come  to  him,  some  of  that  inspiration  of  which  he 
had  spoken.  He  sat  there  looking  straight  ahead, 
brows  drawn,  eyes  sometimes  half  closing,  occasionally 
nodding  his  head  as  he  saw  a  point  more  clearly.  He 
looked  in  such  moments  as  though  indeed  made  for 
conquest, — indomitable.  One  could  almost  feel  his 
mind  at  work,  could  fancy  the  skilful  cutting  away 
of  error,  the  inevitable  working  ahead  to  truth. 

At  last  he  turned  to  her.     "  There's  no  reason  for 

not  beginning  to-morrow,"  he  said,  with  the  eagerness 

of  a  boy  who  would  try  a  new  gun  or  fishing  rod. 

6  There  are  a  whole  lot  of  things  I  want  to  get  right 

at  now." 


CHAPTER    VI 

"GLORIA    VICTIS" 

WE'LL  just  put  our  Russian  friend  back 
here  in  the  corner,  where  the  shelf 
suppresses  him,"  said  Georgia,  who 
seemed  to  have  accepted  the  self-ap 
pointed  position  of  head  cataloguer.  "  Some  of  the 
students  might  happen  to  call." 

"  This,"  said  Dr.  Parkman,  who  was  dusting  Gib 
bon's  Rome,  "  is  the  sort  of  thing  that  is  called  the 
backbone  of  a  library." 

"  Consequently,"  replied  Georgia  glibly,  "  we  will 
put  it  up  here  on  the  top  shelf.  Nobody  wants  a 
library's  backbone.  It's  to  be  had,  not  read.  Now 
the  trimmings,  like  our  friend  Mr.  Shaw  here,  must 
be  given  places  of  accessibility." 

The  host  was  picking  his  way  around  among  the 
contents  of  a  box  which  he  had  just  emptied  upon 
the  floor.  The  hostess  was  yielding  to  the  temptation 
of  an  interesting  bit  which  had  caught  her  eye  in 
dusting  "  An  Attic  Philosopher  in  Paris." 

"  Now  here,"  said  Dr.  Hubers,  picking  up  a  thick, 
green  book,  "  is  Walt  Whitman  and  that  means 
trouble.  No  one  is  going  to  know  whether  he  is  prose 
or  poetry." 

"  When  art  weds  science,"  observed  Georgia,  "  the 
39 


40  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

resulting  library  is  difficult  to  manage.  Mr.  Haeckel 
and  Mr.  Maeterlinck  may  not  like  being  bumped  up 
here  together." 

"  Then  put  Haeckel  somewhere  else,"  said  Ernes 
tine,  looking  up  from  her  book. 

"  No,  fire  Maeterlinck,"  commanded  Karl. 

"See,"  said  Georgia — "it's  begun.  Strife  and 
dissension  have  set  in." 

"  I'm  neither  a  literary  man  nor  a  librarian,"  ven 
tured  Dr.  Parkman,  "  but  it  seems  a  slight  oversight 
to  complete  the  list  of  poets  and  leave  Shakespeare 
lying  out  there  on  the  floor." 

"Got  my  Goethe  in?"  asked  Karl,  after  Shakes 
peare  had  been  left  immersed  in  Georgia's  vitupera 
tions. 

"  I  think  Browning  and  Keats  are  over  there 
under  the  Encyclopedia  Britannica,"  said  Ernestine, 
roused  to  the  necessity  of  securing  a  favourable  posi 
tion  for  her  friends. 

"  Observe,"  said  Georgia,  "  how  they  have  begun 
insisting  on  their  favourite  authors.  This  is  one  of 
the  early  stages." 

Ernestine,  looking  over  their  shoulders,  made  some 
critical  remark  about  the  place  accorded  Balzac's  let 
ters  to  Madam  Hanska,  which  caused  Georgia  to 
retort  that  perhaps  it  would  be  better  if  people  ar 
ranged  their  own  libraries,  and  then  they  could  put 
things  where  they  wanted  them.  Then  after  she  had 
given  a  resting  place  to  what  she  denounced  as  some 
very  disreputable  French  novels,  she  leaned  against 
the  shelves  and  declared  it  was  time  to  rest. 


"GLORIA   VICTIS"  41 

"  This  function,"  she  began,  "  will  make  a  nice 
little  item  for  our  society  girl.  Usually  she  dis 
dains  people  who  do  not  live  on  the  Lake  Shore  Drive, 
but  she  will  have  to  admit  there  is  snap  in  this  '  Dr. 
and  Mrs.  Karl  Ludwig  Hubers,' >;  —pounding  it  out 
on  a  copy  of  Walden  as  typewriter — "  '  but  newly 
returned  from  foreign  shores,  entertained  last  night 
at  a  book  dusting  party.  Those  present  were  Dr. 
Murray  Parkman,  eminent  surgeon,  and  Miss  Georgia 
McCormick,  well  and  unfavourably  known  in  some 
parts  of  the  city.  Rug  beating  and  other  athletic 
games  were  indulged  in.  The  hostess  wore  a  beauti 
fully  ruffled  apron  of  white  and  kindly  presented  her 
guest  with  a  kitchen  apron  of  blue.  Beer  was  served 
freely  during  the  evening.5 ' 

"  Is  that  last  as  close  as  your  paper  comes  to  the 
truth?  "  asked  Ernestine,  piling  up  Emerson  that  he 
might  not  be  walked  upon. 

"  That  last,  my  dear,  is  a  hint — a  good,  straight- 
from-the-shoulder  hint.  I  did  it  for  Dr.  Parkman. 
He  looks  warm  and  unhappy." 

Dr.  Parkman  protested  that  while  a  little  warm, 
he  was  not  at  all  unhappy,  but  upon  further  ques 
tioning  as  to  thirst  wras  led  into  damaging  admis 
sions.  So  the  little  party  divided,  Georgia  calling 
back  over  her  shoulder  that  as  the  host  was  of 
Teutonic  origin,  there  need  be  no  fear  about  the 
newly  stocked  larder. 

Left  alone  a  curious  change  came  over  the  two  men. 
They  had  entered  with  the  heartiness  of  schoolboys 
into  the  raillery  of  a  few  minutes  before,  but  all  of 


42  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

that  dropped  from  them  now,  and  as  they  pulled  up 
the  big  chairs  and  Dr.  Parkman's  "  Well?  "  brought 
the  light  of  a  great  enthusiasm  to  the  face  of  his 
friend,  drawing  him  into  the  things  he  had  been  so 
eager  to  reach,  one  would  not  readily  have  associ 
ated  them  with  the  flippant  conversation  from  which 
they  had  just  turned. 

For  here  were  men  who  in  truth  had  little  time  for 
the  lighter,  gayer  things  of  life.  They  stood  well 
to  the  front  in  that  proportionally  small  army  of 
men  who  do  the  world's  work.  "  Tommy-rot!  "  Dr. 
Parkman  had  responded  a  few  days  before  to  a  beau 
tiful  tribute  some  one  was  seeking  to  pay  "  The  Doc 
tor  " — "A  doctor  is  a  man  who  helps  people  make 
the  best  of  their  bad  bargains — and  damned  sick  he 
gets  of  his  job.  A  man  must  make  a  living  some  way, 
so  some  of  us  earn  our  salt  by  bucking  up  against 
the  law  of  the  survival  of  the  fittest,  thereby  render 
ing  humanity  the  beautiful  service  of  encumbering 
the  earth  with  the  weak.  If  the  medical  profession 
would  just  quit  its  damn  meddling,  nature  might  man 
age,  in  time,  to  do  something  worth  while." 

But  all  the  while,  by  day  and  by  night,  at  the  ex 
pense  of  leisure  and  pleasure, — often  to  the  exclu 
sion  of  sleep  and  food,  he  kept  steadily  at  his  "  damn 
meddling," — proving  the  most  effective  enemy  nature 
had  in  that  part  of  the  country ;  and  sadly  enough — 
for  his  philosophy — he  was  even  stripped  of  ;the  vin 
dication  of  earning  his  salt.  In  the  one  hour  a  day 
given  to  his  business  affairs,  Dr.  Parkman  made  more 
money  than  in  the  ten  or  twelve  devoted  to  his  pro- 


"GLORIA   VICTIS"  43 

fession.  Men  said  he  had  financial  genius,  and  he 
admitted  that  possibly  he  had,  stipulating  only  that 
financial  genius  was  an  inflated  name  for  devil's  luck. 
He  liked  the  money  game  better  than  poker,  and 
played  it  as  his  pet  dissipation,  his  one  real  diversion. 
But  having  more  salt  than  he  could  use  during  'the 
remainder  of  his  days,  did  not  tend  toward  an  abate 
ment  of  this  war  he  waged  against  nature's  ultimate 
design.  He  himself  would  analyse  that  as  a  species 
of  stubbornness,  an  egotistic  desire  to  see  how  good 
an  interference  he  could  establish,  but  he  gave  body 
and  brain  and  soul  to  his  meddling  with  a  fire  sus 
piciously  like  consecration. 

They  all  knew  that  Dr.  Parkman  worked  hard. 
Some  few  knew  that  he  overworked,  and  a  very  few 
knew  why.  Of  the  personal  things  of  his  own  life 
he  never  spoke,  arid  though  he  was  but  fifty,  his  lined 
face  and  deep-set  eyes  made  him  seem  much  closer 
to  sixty. 

The  two  men  were  an  interesting  contrast;  Dr. 
Parkman  was  singularly,  conspicuously  dark,  while 
Karl  Hubers  was  a  true  Teuton  in  colouring.  Dr. 
Parkman  was  a  large  man,  and  all  of  him  seemed 
to  count  for  force.  Something  about  him  made  peo 
ple  prefer  not  to  get  in  his  way.  It  was  his  hands 
spoke  for  his  work — superbly  the  surgeon's  hands, 
that  magical  union  of  power  and  skill,  hands  for  the 
strongest  grip  and  the  lightest  touch,  lithe,  sure, 
relentless,  fairly  intuitive.  His  hands  made  one  be 
lieve  in  him. 

With  Karl  it  was  the  eyes  told  most.    They  seemed 


44  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

to  be  looking  such  a  long  way  ahead,  and  yet  not 
missing  the  smallest  thing  close  at  hand.  As  he 
talked  now,  his  face  lighted  with  enthusiasm,  it  oc 
curred  to  Dr.  Parkman  that  Hubers  was  a  curious 
blending  of  the  two  kinds  of  men  there  were  behind 
him.  Some  of  those  men  had  been  fighters  and  some 
had  been  thinkers,  but  Karl  was  the  thinker  who 
fights.  He  had  drawn  from  both  of  them,  and  that 
gave  him  peculiar  fitness  for  the  work  he  was  doing. 
It  was  work  for  the  thinker,  the  scholar,  but  work 
which  must  have  the  fighting  blood.  Even  his  ap 
pearance  bore  the  mark  of  the  two  kinds  of  things 
bequeathed  him.  He  had  the  well-knit  body  of  the 
soldier,  the  face  of  the  student.  He  was  not  a  large 
man,  but  he  gave  the  sense  of  large  things.  He  had 
the  slight  stoop  of  the  laboratory,  but  when  inter 
ested,  aflame,  he  straightened  up  and  was  then  in 
every  line  the  man  who  fights.  His  eyes,  to  the  un 
derstanding  observer,  told  the  story  of  much  work 
with  the  microscope.  They  were  curiously,  though 
not  unattractively,  unlike.  The  left  he  used  for  ob 
servations,  the  right  for  making  the  accompanying 
drawings.  That  gave  them  a  peculiarity  only  the 
man  of  science  would  understand. 

The  things  which  the  two  men  radiated  were  dif 
ferent  things.  One  felt  their  different  adjustment 
toward  life.  Dr.  Parkman  had  turned  to  hard  work 
as  some  men  turn  to  strong  drink,  to  submerge  him 
self,  to  take  him  out  of  himself,  to  make  life  possible ; 
while  with  Karl  Hubers,  work  and  life  and  love  were 
all  one  great  force.  Dr.  Parkman  worked  in  order 


"GLORIA    VICTIS"  45 

that  he  might  not  remember;  Karl  in  order  that  he 
might  fulfil. 

Their  friendship  had  begun  ten  years  before  in 
Vienna,  one  of  those  rare  friendships  which  seem  all 
the  more  intimate  because  formed  in  a  foreign  land; 
a  friendship  taking  root  in  the  rich  soil  of  kindred 
interests, — comradeship  which  drew  from  the  deep 
springs  of  understanding.  To  come  close  to  Karl's 
work  had  been  one  of  the  real  joys  of  Dr.  Parkman's 
very  active  but  very  barren  life.  He  loved  Karl; 
his  own  heart  was  wrapped  up  in  the  work  his  friend 
was  doing.  And  the  doctor  meant  much  to  Karl; 
had  done  much  for  him.  The  one  was  the  man  of  af 
fairs;  the  other  the  man  of  thought;  they  supple 
mented  and  helped  each  other.  As  the  practicing 
physician,  Dr.  Parkman  could  see  many  things  from 
which  the  laboratory  man  would  be  shut  out.  He 
was  Karl's  channel  of  communication  with  the  human 
side  of  the  work.  And  Karl  gave  Parkman  his  -com 
plete  confidence;  that  was  why  there  was  so  much 
to  tell  now.  He  must  go  over  the  story  of  his  year's 
work,  touch  upon  his  plans,  his  new  ideas.  And  the 
doctor  had  something  to  say  of  the  observations  he 
had  made  for  Karl ;  he  told  of  an  operation  day  after 
to-morrow  he  must  see  and  said  he  had  several  cases 
worth  watching. 

"  You  will  have  to  come  out  to  the  laboratory," 
Karl  finally  urged.  "  We  can't  begin  to  get  at  it 
here." 

"  We're  forgetting  the  hungry  and  thirsty  men," 
said  Georgia,  after  they  had  been  eagerly  chat- 


46  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

ting  across  the  kitchen  table  for  ten  or  fifteen  min 
utes.  But  Ernestine  said  it  did  not  matter.  She 
knew  what  was  going  on  in  the  library  and  how  glad 
they  were  of  their  chance.  She  and  Georgia  too  had 
much  to  discuss :  the  work  done  in  Europe,  Georgia's 
work  here,  how  splendid  Karl  was,  what  a  glorious 
time  they  had  had,  something  of  the  good  times  they 
would  all  have  together  here,  and  then  this  house 
which  Georgia  had  found  for  them  and  into  which 
they  had  gone  at  once. 

"  I  knew  well  enough,"  she  said,  buttering  a  sand 
wich  in  order  to  stay  her  conscience,  "  that  you  and 
Karl  didn't  belong  in  a  flat.  There  couldn't  be  a 
studio  and  a  laboratory  and  library  and  various  other 
exotic  things  in  a  flat.  But  only  old  settlers  and  mil 
lionaires  live  in  detached  houses  here,  so  please  ap 
preciate  my  efforts.  I  thought  this  place  looked  like 
you — not  that  you're  exactly  old-fashioned  and  ir 
regular." 

"  I  liked  it  at  once.  Big  enough  and  interestingly 
queer,  and  not  savouring  of  Chicago  enterprise." 

"  Not  that  there  is  anything  the  matter  with  Chi 
cago  enterprise,"  insisted  Georgia. 

"  You  like  Chicago,  don't  you,  Georgia  ?  " 

"  Love  it !  I  know  one  doesn't  usually  associate 
love  with  Chicago,  but  I  love  even  its  abominations. 
You  know  I  had  a  tough  time  here,  but  I  won  out, 
and  most  of  us  are  vain  enough  to  be  awfully  fond 
of  the  place  where  we've  been  up  against  it  and  come 
out  on  top.  I  haven't  forgotten  the  days  when  I 
edited  farm  journals  and  wrote  thirty-cent  lives  of 


"GLORIA    VICTIS"  47 

great  men  and  peddled  feature  stories  from  office  to 
office,  standing  with  my  hand  on  door  knobs  fighting 
for  nerve  to  go  in,  but  now  that  it  is  all  safely  tucked 
away  in  the  past,  I'm  not  sorry  I  had  to  do  it.  It 
helps  one  understand  a  few  things,  and  when  new  girls 
come  to  me  I  don't  tell  them,  as  I  was  told,  that  they'd 
better  learn  the  millinery  trade  or  do  honest  work  in 
somebody's  kitchen.  None  of  that  kind  of  talk  do 
they  get  from  me ! " 

It  was  always  absorbing  to  see  Georgia  very  much 
in  earnest.  Her  alert  face  kept  pace  with  her  words, 
and  her  emphatic  little  nods  seemed  to  be  clinching 
her  thought.  People  who  had  good  cause  to  know, 
said  it  was  just  as  well  not  to  turn  the  full  tide  of  her 
emotions  to  wrath.  She  was  a  little  taller  than  Ernes 
tine,  very  quick  in  her  movements,  and  if  one  in 
sisted  on  an  adverse  criticism  it  might  be  admitted 
she  was  rather  lacking  in  repose.  The  people  who 
liked  her,  put  it  the  other  way.  They  said  she  was 
so  breezy  and  delightful.  But  even  friendship  could 
not  deny  her  freckles,  nor  -claim  beauty  for  her 
bright,  quick  face. 

They  seemed  to  fall  naturally  into  more  serious 
things  when  they  met  over  what  Georgia  called  the 
evening  bite.  Although  differing  so  widely,  they 
were  homogeneous  in  that  all  were  workers;  they 
touched  many  things,  their  talk  live  with  differ 
ences. 

"  How  do  you  like  it?  "  asked  Ernestine,  following 
Dr.  Parkman's  eyes  to  her  favourite  bronze,  a  copy 
of  Mercie's  Gloria  Victis,  which  she  had  unpacked 


48  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

just  that  day  and  given  a  place  of  honour  on  the 
mantel. 

"  It's  so  Christian,"  he  objected  laughingly. 

"Oh,  but  is  it?" 

"  A  defeated  man  being  borne  aloft  ?  I  call  it  the 
very  essence  of  Christianity.  I  can  see  submission 
and  renunciation  and  other  objectionable  virtues  in 
every  line  of  it." 

"  Go  after  it,  Parkman,"  laughed  Karl.  "  Ernes 
tine  and  I  all  but  came  to  blows  over  it.  I  wanted 
her  to  buy  a  Napoleon  instead.  I  tell  her  there  is  no 
glory  in  defeat." 

"  I  don't  think  of  it  as  the  glory  of  defeat,"  said 
Ernestine.  "  I  think  of  it  as  the  glory  of  the  con 
quered." 

"  But  even  so,  Ernestine,"  said  Georgia,  who  had 
been  looking  it  over  carefully,  "  there's  no  real  glory. 
When  I  fall  down  on  an  assignment,  I  fall  down,  and 
that's  all  there  is  to  it — at  least  my  city  editor  thinks 
so.  If  Dr.  Parkman  doesn't  win  a  case,  he  loses  it. 
His  efforts  may  have  been  very  worthy — but  gloria's 
surely  not  the  word  for  them.  Or  take  a  football 
game,"  she  laughed.  "  Sometimes  the  defeated  team 
really  does  better  work  than  the  winners — but 
wouldn't  we  rather  our  fellows  would  win  on  a  fluke 
than  go  down  to  defeat  putting  up  a  good,  steady 
fight?  The  thing  is  to  get  there!  " 

"  In  football  or  in  life,"  laughed  Karl.  "  Defeat 
furnishes  good  material  to  the  poets  and  the  artists, 
but  none  of  us  care  to  have  the  glory  of  the  conquered 
apply  to  us" 


"GLORIA   VICTIS"  49 

They  were  all  looking  at  the  bronze  and  Ernestine 
looked  from  one  face  to  another,  trying  to  understand 
why  it  moved  none  of  them  as  it  had  her.  Karl's 
face  was  very  purposeful  tonight,  reflecting  the 
stimulus  of  his  talk  wth  his  friend.  Filled  with  en 
thusiasm  for  this  fight  he  was  making,  he  had  no  eye 
in  this  hour  for  the  triumph  of  the  vanquished. 

"Why  I  don't  want  to  submit,"  he  laughed  just 
then.  "  I  want  to  win !" 

"An  idea  which  has  done  a  great  deal  of  harm," 
observed  Dr.  Parkman.  "That  *  you'11-get-your- 
reward-somewhere-else '  doctrine  is  the  worst  possible 
armour  for  life.  The  poets,  of  course,  have  always 
coddled  the  weak,  but  I  see  more  poetry  in  the  to-hell- 
with-defeat  spirit  myself." 

That  too  she  could  understand — a  simple  matter 
of  the  arrogance  of  the  successful. 

And  with  Georgia  it  was  that  thing  of  "  getting 
thcre  " — the  world's  hard  and  fast  standards  of  suc 
cess  and  failure. 

She  too  turned  to  the  statue.  Were  they  right, 
and  she  wrong?  Was  it  just  the  art  of  it,  the  ef 
fectiveness,  which  moved  her,  and  was  the  thought 
back  of  it  indeed  weakening  sentimentality? 

"  Defend  it,  Ernestine,"  laughed  Karl ;  and  then, 
affectionately,  seeing  her  seriousness,  "Tell  us  what 
you,  see  in  it." 

Dr.  Parkman  turned  from  the  statue  to  her.  He 
never  forgot  her  face  as  it  was  then. 

He  had  decided  during  the  evening  that  her  great 
charm  was  her  exquisite  femininity ;  she  seemed  to 


50  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

have  all  those  graces  of  both  mind  and  body  which 
make  for  perfect  loving.  It  was  the  world  force  of 
love,  splendidly  manifest  in  gentleness,  he  had  felt 
in  her  first.  But  now  something  new  flamed  up  within 
her.  Here  was  power — power  moving  in  the  waves 
of  passion  through  the  channel  of  understanding. 
Her  face  had  grown  fairly  stern  in  its  insistence. 

"  But  don't  you  see?  The  keynote  of  it  is  that 
stubborn  grip  on  the  broken  sword.  I  should  think 
every  fighter  would  love  it  for  that.  And  it  is  more 
than  the  glory  of  the  good  fight.  It  is  the  glory  of 
the  unconquerable  will.  Look  at  the  woman's  face! 
The  world  calls  him  beaten.  She  knows  that  he  has 
won.  I  see  behind  it  the  world's  battlefields — 'way 
back  from  the  first  I  see  them  all,  and  I  see  that  the 
thing  which  has  shaped  the  world  is  not  the  success 
or  failure  of  individual  battles  one-half  so  much  as 
it  is  this  wresting  of  victory  from  defeat  by  simply 
breathing  victory  even  after  the  sword  has  been  bro 
ken  in  the  hand.  What  we  call  victory  and  defeat  are 
incidents — things  individual  and  temporal.  The 
thing  universal  and  eternal  is  this  immortality  of  the 
spirit  of  victory.  Why,  every  time  I  look  at  that 
grip  on  the  broken  sword," — laughing  now,  but  eyes 
shining — "  I  can  feel  the  world  take  a  bound  ahead !  " 


CHAPTER    VII 

ERNESTINE    IN    HER   STUDIO 

THE  next  morning  she  went  to  work.  She 
had  never  wanted  anything  with  quite  the 
eagerness  that  she  wanted  to  work  that 
morning. 

"  What  I  want  to  know  is,"  Georgia  had  demanded 
the  night  before,  "did  either  of  you  do  any  work? 
I  hear  a  great  deal  about  quaint  little  villages  and 
festive  cafes,  but  what  did  you  actually  do?  " 

Now  if  Georgia  were  only  here  to  repeat  the  ques 
tion,  she  could  answer  jubilantly:  "  What  did  I  do? 
Why,  I  got  ready  for  this  morning!  Wasn't  that  a 
fine  year's  work?  " 

It  had  seemed  queer  at  first.  "  Why  don't  I  work," 
she  would  ask  Karl,  "  now  that  I  am  here  where  I 
always  wanted  to  be?  "  But  Karl  would  only  laugh, 
and  say  that  was  too  obvious  to  explain.  Once  he 
had  talked  a  little  about  it.  "  I  wouldn't  worry, 
liebchen.  Isn't  it  possible  that  the  creative  instinct 
is  being  all  used  up?  It's  your  dream  time,  sweet 
heart.  It's  your  time  to  do  nothing  but  love.  After 
a  while  you'll  turn  to  the  work,  and  you'll  do  things 
easily  then  that  were  hard  to  do  before." 

How  had  he  known?  For  nothing  had  ever  been 
more  true  than  that.  She  knew  this  morning  that 

51 


52  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

she  could  do  things  easily  now  which  had  been  hard 
to  do  before. 

One  of  the  very  best  things  about  this  curious,  old- 
fashioned  house  was  that  it  had  an  attic  which  had 
all  the  possibilities  of  a  studio.  Just  a  little  remodel 
ing — and  Paris  itself  could  do  no  better. 

To  that  attic  she  turned  just  as  soon  as  Karl  had 
gone  over  to  the  university.  Her  things  had  been 
carried  up;  now  for  a  fine  morning  of  sorting  them 
out!  But  instead  of  attacking  the  unpacking  and 
sorting  and  arranging  she  got  no  farther  than  a 
book  of  her  sketches.  Sitting  down  on  the  floor  she 
spread  them  all  around  her. 

Despite  the  fact  that  she  had  not  at  once  settled 
down  to  serious  work,  she  made  sketches  everywhere, 
just  rough,  hasty  little  things — "  bubbles  of  joy  " 
she  called  them  to  Karl.  It  seemed  now  that 
these  were  counting  for  more  than  she  had  thought. 
Everything  was  counting  for  more  than  she  had 
thought ! 

Something  of  the  joy  of  it  carried  her  back  to  the 
days  when  she  was  a  little  girl  and  had  had  such 
happy  times  with  her  blackboard.  The  thought  came 
that  now,  out  of  her  great  happiness,  she  must  pay 
back  to  the  blackboard  all  that  it  had  given  her  in 
those  less  happy  days.  Work  was  but  the  overflow 
of  love! 

During  the  last  five  months,  when  Karl  had  been 
working  in  Paris,  she  had  studied  with  Laplace. 
He  had  taken  her  in  at  once,  rejoiced  in  her  and 
scolded  her.  One  day  in  an  unguarded  moment  he 


ERNESTINE    IN    HER    STUDIO          53 

said  she  knew  something  about  colour.  No  one  re 
membered  his  ever  having  said  a  thing  like  that  be 
fore.  And  Ernestine  had  seen  a  teardrop  on  his  face 
when  he  stood  before  her  picture  of  rain  in  the  autumn 
woods.  That  teardrop  was  very  precious  to  her. 
It  seemed  she  could  work  years  on  just  the  memory 
of  it. 

So  there  were  many  reasons  why  she  felt  like 
working  this  morning.  All  the  loving  and  the  living 
and  the  dreaming  and  the  thinking  and  the  working 
of  a  lifetime!  Karl  had  understood.  Her  dream 
time!  She  loved  that  way  of  putting  it.  Beautiful 
days  to  be  cherished  forever!  How  rich  she  was  in 
the  things  she  had  known !  How  unstinted  love  had 
been  with  her !  She  wanted  now  to  give  with  that  same 
largeness,  that  same  overwhelming  richness,  with 
which  she  had  received.  Enthusiasm  and  desire  and 
joy  settled  to  fixed  purpose.  She  began  upon  actual 
work. 

She  kept  at  it  until  late  in  the  afternoon.  She  had 
never  had  such  a  day,  and  the  great  thing  about  it 
was  that  it  seemed  a  mere  beginning,  just  an  opening 
up.  A  new  day  had  dawned ;  a  day  which  meant,  not 
the  death  of  the  dream  days,  but  their  reincarnation 
into  life.  Those  hours  when  she  sat  idly  beneath 
blue  skies,  looking  dreamily  out  upon  beautiful  vis 
tas  it  seemed  she  should  have  been  painting — how 
well,  after  all,  they  had  done  their  work!  Dreams 
which  she  had  not  understood  were  making  themselves 
plain  to  her  now.  The  love  days  were  translating 
themselves  in  terms  of  life  and  work.  She  wanted  to 


54  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

glorify  the  world  until  it  should  be  to  all  eyes  as  the 
eyes  of  love  had  made  it  to  her. 

Laplace  had  said  once  it  was  too  bad  she  had 
married.  She  thought  of  that  now,  and  smiled.  She 
was  soxry  for  any  one  who  thought  it  too  bad  she 
had  married! 

And  then  Karl  telephoned.  Would  she  come  over 
to  the  university?  He  had  been  wanting  to  show  her 
around,  and  this  would  be  a  good  time.  She  dressed 
hurriedly,  humming  a  little  song  they  had  heard  often 
in  Paris. 


CHAPTER    VIH 

SCIENCE,   ART,   AND   LOVE 

FROM  his  window  in  the  laboratory  he  saw 
her  as  she  was  coming  across  the  campus, 
and  waved.  She  waved  back,  and  then  won 
dered  if  it  were  proper  to  wave  at  learned 
professors  who  were  looking  from  their  windows.  In 
one  sense  it  was  hard  to  comprehend  that  it  was  her 
Karl  who  was  such  an  important  man  about  this 
great  university.  Karl  was  so  completely  just  her 
Karl,  so  human  and  dear,  and  a  great  scientist  seemed 
a  remote  abstraction.  She  must  tell  that  to  Karl.  He 
would  enjoy  himself  as  a  remote  abstraction. 

She  was  still  smiling  about  Karl's  remoteness  as 
she  came  into  the  building.  He  had  come  down  to 
meet  her.  "  You  see  I  thought  you  might  get  lost," 
he  explained. 

"  I  might  have,"  she  responded,  and  then  laughed, 
for  when  people  are  very  happy  it  is  not  at  all  dif 
ficult  to  laugh. 

"Do  you  know  what  you  look  like?  "  he  said.  "  You 
look  like  a  kind  of  spiritualised  rainbow — or  like  the 
flowers  after  the  rain." 

"  I  dressed  in  five  minutes,"  said  Ernestine,  smooth 
ing  down  her  gown  with  the  complacency  of  a  woman 
who  knows  she  has  nothing  to  fear  from  scrutiny. 

"  As  if  that  had  anything  to  do  with  it !     You 

55 


56  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

dress  as  the  birds  and  flowers  dress — by  just  being 
yourself." 

She  let  that  bit  of  masculine  ignorance  pass  with 
a  wise  little  smile. 

They  were  in  the  laboratory  now.  "  I  came,"  said 
Ernestine  severely,  "  to  listen  to  an  elucidation  of  the 
mysteries  of  science." 

"  Then  you  had  no  business  to  come  looking  like 
this,"  he  responded  promptly. 

She  was  looking  around  the  room.  "  And  this  is 
where  all  those  great  things  are  done?  " 

"  Um — well  this  is  where  we  make  attempts  at 
things." 

He  was  not  quite  through,  and  Ernestine  sat  down 
by  the  window  to  wait  for  him.  It  seemed  sur 
prising,  somehow,  that  it  should  be  such  a  simple 
looking  room.  Karl  was  doing  something  with  some 
tubes,  writing  something  on  a  chart-like  thing.  Some 
thing  in  the  expression  of  his  face  as  he  bent  over  the 
work  carried  her  back  to  other  days. 

"  Karl,"  she  said  abruptly,  "  why  don't  you  and 
I  have  any  quarrels  about  which  is  greater — science 
or  art?" 

He  looked  up  at  her  in  such  absolute  astonishment 
that  she  laughed. 

"  Liebchen,"  he  said,  "  don't  you  think  that  would 
be  going  a  long  way  out  of  our  road  to  hunt  a  quar 
rel?  Now  I  can  think  up  much  better  subjects  for  a 
quarrel  than  that.  For  instance :  Do  I  love  you  more 
than  you  love  me,  or  do  you  love  me  more  than  I  love 
you?  Your  subject  makes  me  think  of  our  old  de- 


SCIENCE,    ART   AND    LOVE  57 

bating  society.  We  used  to  get  up  and  argue  in  thun 
derous  tones  something  about  which  was  worse — fire 
or  water ! " 

"  But  Karl — it  isn't  logical  that  you  and  I  should 
love  each  other  this  way  !  " 

He  pushed  back  his  work  and  turned  squarely 
around  to  her.  He  was  smiling  in  his  tenderly  humor 
ous  way.  "  Well,  sweetheart,"  he  said,  "  would  you 
rather  be  logical,  or  would  you  rather  be  happy?" 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  insisting  upon  the  logic.  I'm  just 
wondering  about  it." 

"  Isn't  love  greater  than  either  a  test  tube  or  a 
paint  brush?  "  Karl  asked  softly. 

She  nodded,  smiling  at  him  lovingly. 

He  sat  there  looking  a  long  way  ahead.  She  knew 
he  was  thinking  something  out.  "  Ernestine,"  he 
began,  "  do  you  ever  think  much  about  the  oneness 
of  the  world?  " 

"  Why,  yes — I  do,  but  I  didn't  suppose  you  did." 

"  But,  liebchen — who  would  be  more  apt  to  think 
about  it  than  I?  Doesn't  my  work  teach  oneness 
more  than  it  teaches  anything  else?  All  the  quarrel 
ling  comes  through  a  failure  to  recognise  the  one 
ness.  I  often  think  of  the  different  ways  Goethe 
and  Darwin  got  at  evolution.  Goethe  had  the  poetic 
conception  of  it  all  right ;  Darwin  worked  it  out  step 
by  step.  Who's  ahead?  And  which  has  any  business 
scoffing  at  the  other?  " 

He  went  back  to  his  notes,  and  her  thoughts  re 
turned  to  the  battles  she  had  heard  fought  in  the 
name  of  science.  She  looked  about  the  room,  out  at 


5$  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

the  great  buildings  all  around,  and  then  back  to  Karl, 
who  seemed  soul  of  it  all.  How  different  all  this  was ! 
What  would  her  father  think  to  hear  a  man  like 
Karl  Hubers  giving  to  a  poet  place  in  the  developing 
of  the  theory  of  evolution  ?  What  was  the  difference 
between  Karl  and  her  father?  Was  it  that  the  school 
to  which  they  belonged  was  itself  changing,  or  was 
it  just  a  difference  in  type?  Or,  perhaps,  most  of  all, 
was  it  not  a  difference  in  degree?  Her  father  had 
only  seen  a  little  way,  and  that  down  a  narrow  path 
bounded  by  high  walls  of  bigotry.  Karl  had  reached 
the  heights  from  which  he  could  see  the  oneness !  And 
was  it  not  love  had  helped  him  to  those  heights? 

A  little  later,  when  Karl  was  seeking  to  explain 
what  he  evidently  regarded  as  a  very  simple  little 
thing,  and  just  as  a  few  glimmers  of  light  were  be 
ginning  to  penetrate  her  darkness,  she  looked  up 
and  at  the  half  open  door  saw  a  boy  whose  consterna 
tion  at  sight  of  her  made  it  difficult  for  Ernestine 
to  repress  a  smile. 

"  Come  in,  Beason,"  said  Karl,  who  had  just  no 
ticed  him.  "  I  want  you  to  meet  Mrs.  Hubers."  Er 
nestine  looked  at  Karl  suspiciously — something  in 
his  voice  signified  he  was  enjoying  something. 

But  there  was  nothing  about  Mr.  Beason  which 
signified  any  kind  of  enjoyment.  He  advanced  to  meet 
her  sturdily,  as  one  determined  to  do  his  duty  at  any 
cost.  The  boy  was  rendered  peculiar  in  appearance 
by  an  abnormally  long,  heavy  jaw,  which  gave  his 
face  a  heavy,  stolid  appearance  which  might  or  might 
not  be  characteristic.  He  had  small,  sharp  eyes, 


SCIENCE,    ART    AND    LOVE  59 

and  Ernestine  was  quite  sure  from  one  look  at  his 
face  that  he  did  not  laugh  often,  or  see  many  things 
to  laugh  about. 

He  was  not  impenetrable  to  graciousness,  however, 
for  within  five  minutes  he  had  told  her  that  he  was 
born  in  southern  Indiana,  that  he  lived  in  Minne 
apolis  now,  and  that  he  had  come  to  Chicago  to  get 
some  work  with  Dr.  Hubers.  Upon  hearing  that 
Ernestine  immediately  noticed  what  a  remarkably 
intelligent  face  he  had,  and  felt  sure  that  that  heavy 
jaw  gave  him  a  phlegmatic  look  which  was  most 
misleading. 

Karl  laughed  as  the  boy  went  away.  "  Funny 
fellow — Beason.  He'll  have  to  cut  away  a  lot  of  the 
trees  before  he  gets  a  good  look  at  the  woods.  Never 
in  his  life  has  one  gleam  of  humour  penetrated  him. 
In  fact  if  a  few  humour  cells  were  to  creep  in  by  mis 
take,  they'd  be  so  alien  as  to  make  a  tremendous 
disturbance." 

"  He  seems  to  think  a  great  deal  of  you,"  said 
Ernestine,  a  little  reproachfully. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  and  I  like  him.  I  like  the  fellow  first 
rate.  He's  a  splendid  worker — conscientious,  abso 
lutely  to  be  depended  upon.  'Way  ahead  of  lots  of 
these  fellows  around  here  who  think  they  know  it  all. 
But  he  has  those  uncompromising  ideas  about  sci 
ence  ;  ready  to  fight  for  it  at  the  drop  of  the  hat.  Oh, 
Beason's  all  right.  We  need  his  sort.  I'll  tell  you 
whom  I  do  want  you  to  meet,  Ernestine,  and  that's 
Hastings.  You'll  like  him.  He's  such  a  success  as 
a  human  being.  He's  more  like  the  old-time  professor 


60  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

of  the  small  college,  has  a  fatherly,  benevolent  feel 
ing  toward  all  the  students.  You  see  we're  so  big 
here  that  we  haven't  many  of  the  small  college  char 
acteristics  about  us.  It's  each  fellow  doing  his  own 
work,  and  not  that  close  comradeship  that  there  is 
in  the  small  school.  But  Hastings  is  a  connecting 
link.  Then,  on  the  other  hand,  there's  Lane.  You 
must  meet  him  too,  for  he's  a  rare  specimen :  pedantic, 
academic;  I  don't  know  just  why  they  have  him,  he 
doesn't  represent  the  spirit  of  the  place  at  all.  He's 
entirely  too  erudite  to  be  of  much  use.  But  I'll  let 
Parkman  tell  you  about  Lane.  Oh,  but  he  hates  him ! 
They  met  here  in  the  laboratory  one  day  and  upon  my 
soul  I  thought  Parkman  was  going  to  pick  him  up 
and  throw  him  out  the  window." 

As  they  were  looking  through  the  general  labor 
atory  they  met  Professor  Hastings,  and  she  could 
see  at  once  what  Karl  meant.  He  was  apparently  a 
man  of  about  sixty,  and  kindness  was  written  large 
upon  him.  Ernestine  could  fancy  his  looking  after 
students  who  were  ill,  and  trying  to  devise  some  way 
of  helping  the  poverty-stricken  boy  through  another 
year  in  college. 

They  left  the  building  and  sauntered  slowly  across 
the  campus.  Almost  in  the  centre  of  the  quadrangle 
Ernestine  stopped  and  looked  all  around.  She  was 
beginning  to  feel  what  it  was  for  which  the  University 
of  Chicago  stood.  It  was  not  "  college  life,"  all 
those  things  vital  to  the  undergraduate  heart,  which 
this  university  suggested.  She  fancied  there  might 
be  things  the  undergraduate  would  miss  here ;  she  was 
even  a  little  glad  her  own  college  days  had  been  spent 


SCIENCE,   ART   AND   LOVE  61 

at  the  smaller  school.  As  she  stood  looking  about  at 
building  upon  building  she  had  visions,  not  of  boys 
and  girls  singing  their  college  songs,  but  of  men  and 
women  working  their  way  toward  truth.  She  looked 
from  one  red  roof  to  another,  and  each  building 
seemed  to  her  a  separate  channel  through  which  men 
were  working  ahead  to  the  light.  It  was  a  place  for 
research,  for  striving  for  new  knowledge,  for  clearing 
the  way.  She  turned  her  face  for  the  moment  to  the 
north;  there  was  great  Chicago,  where  men  fought 
for  wealth  and  power,  Chicago,  with  all  the  enthusi 
asm  of  youth,  and  the  arrogance  of  youthful  suc 
cess,  with  all  the  strength  of  youthful  muscle,  all  the 
power  and  possibility  of  young  brain  and  heart.  This 
seemed  far  away  from  the  Board  of  Trade,  from  State 
Street  and  Michigan  Avenue.  But  was  not  the  spirit 
of  it  all  one?  This,  too,  was  Chicago,  the  Chicago 
which  had  fought  its  way  through  criticism,  indif 
ference  and  jeers  to  a  place  in  the  world  of  scholar 
ship.  People  who  knew  what  they  were  talking  about 
did  not  laugh  at  the  University  of  Chicago  any 
more.  It  had  too  much  to  its  credit  to  be  passed  over 
lightly.  Men  were  doing  things  here;  she  felt  all 
about  her  the  ideas  here  in  embryo.  How  would  they 
develop?  Where  would  they  strike?  What  things 
now  slumbering  here  would  step,  robust  and  mighty, 
into  the  next  generation? 

And  greatest  of  all  these  was  Karl !  She  turned  to 
him  with  flushed,  glowing  face.  He  had  been  watch 
ing  her,  following  much  of  her  thought.  "  I  like 
this  place,"  she  said — her  eyes  telling  all  the  rest. 
"  I  was  not  sure  I  was  going  to,  but  I  do." 


B 


CHAPTER  IX 

AS   THE   SURGEON   SAW  IT  - 

UT,  Karl,  you  must!  " 

I  tell  you,  my  dear,  I  can't ! " 
Well,  I  think  it's  just " 


"  Now,  Ernestine," — in  tones  maddeningly 
calm  and  conciliatory — "  you  go  on  down  to  Park- 
man's  office  and  I'll  come  just  as  soon  as  I  can. 
Now  be  sensible — there's  a  good  girl." 

"  Well,  I  call  it  mean!  " — this  after  hanging  up 
the  receiver.  "  I  don't  care," — still  talking  into  the 
telephone,  as  if  there  were  satisfaction  in  having 
something  understand — "  it's  not  nice  of  Karl." 

They  had  an  engagement  with  Dr.  Parkman  for 
dinner  at  his  club,  to  meet  some  people  he  wanted  her 
to  know,  and  now  Karl  had  telephoned  from  the  lab 
oratory  at  the  last  minute  that  he  was  not  ready  to 
leave  and  for  her  to  go  on  down  alone. 

"  And  he'll  come  late — and  not  dressed — and 
they'll  think," — she  went  over  and  sat  down  by  the 
window  to  enjoy  the  mournful  luxury  of  contem 
plating  just  what  they  would  think. 

Couldn't  he  go  over  to  the  laboratory  a  little 
earlier  in  the  morning  and  finish  up  this  terribly  im 
portant  thing?  Was  it  nice  of  a  man  to  have  peo- 

62 


AS    THE    SURGEON    SAW    IT  63 

pie  being  sorry  for  his  wife?  Was  it  considerate  of 
Karl  to  ask  her  to  put  on  this  pearl-coloured  dress 
and  then  let  her  go  down  in  the  train  all  alone  ? 

She  would  telephone  Dr.  Parkman  that  they  could 
not  come.  Then  Karl  would  be  sorry!  But  no — 
severely  and  with  dignity — she  would  show  that  one 
member  of  the  family  had  some  sense  of  the  conven 
tions.  Oh,  yes — this  in  long-suffering  vein — she 
would  do  her  part,  and  would  also  do  her  best  to 
make  up  for  Karl.  No  doubt  she  might  as  well  be 
come  accustomed  to  that  first  as  last. 

Going  down  in  the  train  she  had  a  very  clear  pic 
ture  of  herself  as  the  poor,  neglected  wife  of  the  man 
absorbed  in  his  work.  She  saw  so  many  reasons  for 
being  unhappy.  Was  it  kind  the  way  Karl  had  told 
her  in  that  first  letter  about  some  other  woman  in  his 
life,  and  then  had  never  so  much  as  revealed  to  her 
that  other  woman's  name?  Where  did  this  woman 
live?  When  had  Karl  known  her?  How  icdl  had  he 
known  her?  And  all  the  while  her  sense  of  humour 
was  striving  to  make  attacks  upon  her  and  the  con 
sciousness  in  her  inmost  heart  that  all  this  was  ab 
surd  and  most  unworthy  only  made  her  the  more 
persistently  forlorn. 

She  had  never  been  to  Dr.  Parkman's  office,  and 
she  was  not  very  familiar  with  Chicago — had  it  never 
occurred  to  Karl  she  might  get  lost  and  have  some 
unfortunate  experience?  But  fate  did  not  favour 
her  mood,  and  she  reached  the  office  in  safety.  Dr. 
Parkman  did  not  seem  at  all  surprised  at  seeing  her 
alone,  which  flamed  the  fire  anew. 


64  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

"  He  hasn't  backed  out  ?  "  he  demanded,  laughing 
a  little. 

She  explained  with  considerable  dignity  that  her 
husband  had  been  detained  at  the  laboratory,  that  he 
regretted  it  exceedingly,  but  would  be  with  them  just 
as  soon  as  circumstances  permitted. 

He  took  her  into  his  private  office,  and  Ernestine 
was  too  sincere  a  lover  of  beautiful  things  to  be 
wholly  miserable  in  a  room  like  that. 

"  Why,  this  doesn't  look  like  an  office,"  she  ex 
claimed.  "It's  more  like  a  pet  room  in  a  beautiful 
home." 

He  laughed,  not  mirthfully. 

"  I  hardly  think  you  could  call  it  that,  but  this  is 
where  I  spend  a  good  deal  of  my  time,  so  I  tried  to 
make  it  livable." 

He  was  busy  at  his  desk,  and  she  watched  his  hands. 
She  was  thinking  that  she  would  like  to  paint  a  pic 
ture  and  call  it  "  The  Surgeon."  She  would  leave 
the  man's  face  and  figure  in  shadow,  concentrating 
the  light  upon  those  hands,  letting  them  tell  their 
own  story. 

The  whole  man  stood  for  force.  She  was  sure  that 
he  always  had  his  way  about  things,  that  he  simply 
took  for  granted  having  his  own  way.  Yet  there  was 
something  in  which  he  had  not  had  his  way.  Karl 
had  told  her  a  little  about  that;  she  must  ask  him 
more  about  it.  It  seemed  suddenly  that  there  was 
something  pathetic  about  this  beautiful  room.  Did 
it  not  reflect  a  man  trying  to  make  up  to  himself  for 
the  things  he  did  not  have?  It  was  a  room  which 


AS    THE    SURGEON    SAW    IT  65 

suggested  pleasant  hours  and  fine,  quiet  enjoyment. 
The  deep,  leather  chairs  seemed  made  for  long,  inti 
mate  conversations.  The  dark  red  tapestry,  the  oak 
panelling,  this  richly  toned  rug,  the  few  real  pictures, 
the  little  odds  and  ends  suggestive  of  remote  corners 
of  the  world — it  seemed  a  setting  for  some  beautiful 
companionship,  some  close  sympathy,  a  place  where 
one  would  like  to  sit  for  hours  and  be  just  one's  self. 
But  was  not  Dr.  Parkman's  life  lacking  in  the  very 
things  of  which  this  bespoke  an  appreciation?  There 
was  a  subtle  pathos  in  a  beautiful  room  which 
breathed  loneliness.  She  thought  of  their  own  library 
at  home,  quick  to  sense  the  difference. 

The  doctor  went  into  an  adjoining  room,  and  her 
thoughts  were  broken  by  the  low  murmur  of  voices. 
Then  the  inner  door  opened;  he  was  showing  a  man 
through  to  the  outer  office.  The  man  stumbled  over 
the  rug,  and  at  his  exclamation  Ernestine  looked  up. 
Her  own  face  paled ;  she  half  rose  from  her  chair ; — 
the  native  impulse  to  do  something.  She  looked  at 
Dr.  Parkman.  His  face  was  entirely  masked.  The 
man  passed  into  the  outer  room,  leaving  behind  him 
something  which  caused  Ernestine's  heart  to  beat 
fast. 

The  doctor  walked  slowly  over  to  his  chair  and  sat 
down.  He  seemed  unconscious  of  her  for  a  moment, 
and  then  he  looked  at  her  and  saw  that  she  had  seen 
and  that  she  wanted  to  know. 

"  You'd  think  a  man  would  get  used  to  it,"  he 
said  in  his  short,  gruff  way.  "  You'd  think  it  would 
become  a  matter  of  course,  but  it  doesn't.  That 


66  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

man's  wife  is  dying  of  cancer.  It's  not  an  operable 
case.  I  told  him  that  to-day.  He  asked  for  the  truth 
and  I  gave  it.  I  even  gave  my  estimate  of  the  time." 
He  swung  his  chair  around  and  looked  out  at  the 
roof  of  the  building  below,  and  then  turned  sharply 
back  to  her.  "  You  said  a  while  ago  that  this  looked 
like  a  home.  Well,  it's  not.  It's  like  a  good  many 
other  things — empty  show.  Where  that  man  lives, 
it's  not  much  for  looks,  but  it  is  a  home,  and  this 
means — breaking  it  up.  In  there  a  minute  ago,  I 
told  him  he  had  to  lose  the  only  thing  in  life  he  cares 
anything  about.  He — oh,  well ! "  and  with  one  of 
his  abrupt  changes,  he  turned  away. 

But  Ernestine  was  leaning  forward  in  her  chair. 
Her  lips  were  parted.  Her  eyes  were  very  dark. 

"  Cancer — you  say,  doctor?  " — her  voice  was  so 
low  he  could  barely  catch  it.  "  Cancer?  " 

He  nodded,  looking  at  her  intently. 

"But  that's  what  Karl's  working  on!  That's 
what  Karl's  doing  this  very  minute !  " 

"  Yes,  and  do  you  ever  think  of  it  like  that?  Do 
you  ever  think  of  the  lives  and  homes  he  is  going  to 
save;  the  tragedies  and  heartbreaks  he  is  going  to 
avert;  the  children  he  is  going  to  keep  from  being 
motherless  or  fatherless  if  he  does  do  this  thing? — 
and  I  believe  with  all  my  heart  he  will!  I  tell  you, 
Mrs.  Hubers,  you  want  to  help  him!  I'm  not  sorry 
you  saw  that  little  thing  just  now.  It  will  show  you 
the  other  side  of  it — the  human  side.  And  there 
wasn't  anything  unusual  in  it.  All  over  the  world, 
physicians  are  doing  this  same  thing  every  day — 


AS   THE    SURGEON    SAW    IT  67 

telling  people  it's  hopeless,  admitting  there's  nothing 
to  be  done.  Then  think  of  the  tremendousness  of 
this  work  Karl  Hubers  is  doing ! — where  it  strikes — 
the  hearts  breaking  for  it — the  thousands  praying 
for  it!  Is  it  any  wonder  we're  watching  it?  Inter 
ested?  I  tell  you  we  know  what  it  means." 

She  was  unconscious  of  the  tear  on  her  cheek,  of 
the  quivering  of  her  face. 

"And  Karl  is  doing  that?  That  is  what  Karl's 
work  means?  " 

"  Karl's  work  simply  means  giving  into  our  hands 
the  power  to  save  more  lives.  Now  we're  doing  the 
best  we  can  with  what  we  have — but  God  knows  we're 
short  on  power !  We're  groping  around  in  the  dark. 
Karl's  work  means  letting  in  the  light." 

His  voice  had  grown  warm.  Something  had  fallen 
from  him — leaving  him  himself.  In  his  eyes  was  a 
wealth  of  unspeakable  feeling. 

"  Doctor,  I  want  to  thank  you !  " — but  it  was  her 
face  thanked  him  most  eloquently. 

She  was  glad  when  he  left  her  for  a  minute  before 
they  finally  went  away.  Her  heart  was  very  full. 
This  was  Karl!  This  the  real  meaning  of  Karl's 
work!  To  think  she  had  looked  at  it  in  that  small, 
paltry  way — that  even  in  her  thoughts  she  had  put 
the  slightest  stumbling  block  in  his  path.  This  very 
afternoon  had  come  new  inspiration  and  she  had  re 
sented  it,  had  said  small,  mean  things  in  her  heart 
because  he  stayed  to  work  out  his  precious  thoughts. 
Why,  it  would  have  been  fairly  criminal  for  Karl  to 
run  away  from  that  call  of  his  work! 


68  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

She  wanted  to  tell  him  all  about  it ;  she  yearned  to 
"  make  it  up  to  him,"  make  him  more  happy  than  he 
had  ever  been  before.  She  dwelt  upon  it  all  until, 
when  Dr.  Parkman  came  in  for  her,  he  was  startled 
at  the  light  shining  from  her  face. 


CHAPTER    X 

KARL   IN    HIS   LABORATORY 

O<?E  of  their  favourite  speculations,  as  the 
days  went  on,  was  as  to  whether  any  one  had 
ever  been  so  happy  before.   They  argued  it 
from   all   sides,  in   a  purely  unprejudiced 
and  dispassionate  manner,  and  always  arrived  at  the 
conclusion  that  of  course  no  one  ever  had.     "  Be 
cause,"  Ernestine  would  say,  "  no  one  ever  had  so 
many   reasons    for   being   happy."      "  And   if   they 
had,"    he   would    respond,    "  they  would   have   said 
something  about  it." 

Ernestine  worked  that  winter  as  she  had  never 
worked  before.  That  first  day  had  not  been  a  de 
ceptive  one.  She  had  done  some  of  the  things  which 
something  within  her  heart  assured  her  that  day  she 
could  do.  The  best  thing  she  had  done  she  sent  to 
Laplace,  as  he  had  asked  her  to.  "  It's  considered 
rather  superior  to  disdain  the  Salon,"  she  said  to 
Karl,  the  day  they  packed  the  canvas,  "  but  Paris 
seems  the  only  way  of  proving  to  Americans  that 
good  can  come  out  of  America." 

She  had  heard  from  Laplace  that  the  picture  would 
be  hung.  His  brief  comment  had  been  that  America 
could  not  be  so  bad  as  was  sometimes  said.  She  was 
eager  now  to  hear  more  about  it.  She  would  surely 
have  a  letter  very  soon.  And  she  and  Karl  were  so 

69 


70  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

happy!  It  had  been  such  a  glorious,  wholesome, 
splendidly  worth  while  winter. 

It  was  one  afternoon  in  early  spring  that  over  in 
the  laboratory  John  Beason  and  Professor  Hastings 
were  talking  of  Dr.  Hubers.  "  But  that  isn't  all  of 
it,"  said  Professor  Hastings  in  the  midst  of  a  dis 
cussion.  "  This  fanaticism  for  veracity  Huxley  talks 
about  isn't  all  of  it  by  any  means.  Any  of  us  can 
get  together  a  lot  of  facts.  It  takes  the  big  man 
to  know  what  the  facts  mean." 

"  Somebody  said  that  truth  was  the  soul  of  facts," 
said  Beason,  in  the  uncertain  way  he  talked  of  any 
thing  outside  tabulated  knowledge.  "  But  I  suppose 
that's  just  one  of  those  things  people  say." 

"  Yes — but  is  it?  Isn't  it  true?  Why  is  Hubers 
greater  than  the  rest  of  us?  It  isn't  that  he  works 
harder.  We  all  work.  It  isn't  that  he's  more  exact. 
We're  all  exact.  Isn't  it  that  very  thing  of  having 
a  genius  for  getting  the  soul  out  of  his  facts?  That 
man  looks  a  long  wray  ahead — smells  truth  away  off, 
as  it  were.  I  tell  you,  Mr.  Beason,  scientific  training 
kills  many  men  for  research  work.  They're  afraid 
to  move  more  than  inch  by  inch.  They  won't  take 
any  jumps.  Now  Dr.  Hubers  jumps;  I've  seen  him 
do  it.  Of  course,  after  he's  made  his  jump  he  goes 
back  and  sees  that  there  aren't  any  ditches  in  be 
tween,  but  he's  not  afraid  of  a  leap  in  the  dark. 
That's  his  own  peculiar  gift.  Most  of  us  are  not 
made  for  jumping." 

"  But  that  doesn't  sound  like  the  scientific  method," 
said  Beason,  brows  knitted. 


KARL    IN    HIS    LABORATORY  71 

"  I'll  admit  it  wouldn't  do  for  general  practice," 
replied  the  older  man,  a  twinkle  in  his  eye.  "  The 
spirit  has  to  move  you,  or  you  wouldn't  gain  anything 
but  a  broken  neck." 

"  Yes,  but  that  thing  of  a  spirit  moving  you," 
said  Beason,  more  sure  of  himself  here,  "  that  does 
not  belong  in  science  at  all;  that  is  a  part  of  re 
ligion." 

"  And  to  a  man  like  Dr.  Hubers  " — very  quietly 
and  firmly — "  science  is  religion." 

Beason  pondered  that  a  minute.  "  They're  en 
tirely  distinct,"  was  his  conclusion. 

"  So  it  seems  to  you ;  but  I'm  a  year  or  two  older 
than  you  are,  Mr.  Beason,  and  the  longer  I  live  the 
more  firmly  I  believe  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  an 
intuitive  sense  of  truth.  If  there  isn't,  why  is  Dr. 
Hubers  a  greater  man  than  I  am?" — and  with  that 
he  left  him,  smiling  a  little  at  how  it  had  never  oc 
curred  to  Beason  to  say  anything  polite. 

Beason  was  in  truth  much  perturbed.  It  was  not 
pleasing  to  have  the  greatness  of  his  idol  explained 
on  unscientific  principles.  He  did  not  like  that  idea 
of  the  jumps.  Jumping  sounded  unscientific,  and 
what  could  be  worse  than  to  say  of  a  man  that  he 
was  not  scientific?  Preposterous  to  say  the  greatest 
things  of  science  were  achieved  by  unscientific 
methods ! 

To-day  Dr.  Hubers  had  been  all  afternoon  alone 
in  his  laboratory.  Some  one  had  brought  him  in  some 
luncheon  at  noon,  but  since  one  o'clock  the  door  had 
not  opened,  and  now  it  was  almost  five.  What  was 


72  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

going  on  in  there  ?  Even  Beason  had  the  imagination 
to  wonder. 

Could  he  have  seen  he  would  not  have  been  much 
enlightened.  The  man  was  sitting  before  a  table, 
his  arms  reaching  out  in  front  of  him — some  tubes, 
his  microscope,  other  things  he  had  been  working 
with  within  reach,  but  unheeded  now.  For  he  was 
not  seeing  now  the  detail,  the  immediate.  This  was 
not  one  of  those  moments  of  advancing  step  by  step. 
The  light  in  those  eyes  of  wonderful  sight  was  the 
light  from  a  farther  distance.  A  way  had  opened 
ahead ;  far  out  across  dim  places  he  could  see  it  now. 
The  afternoon  had  been  a  momentous  one.  He  had 
taken  a  step  leading  to  a  greater  height,  and  with 
the  greater  height  came  a  wider  vision.  A  few  of 
those  minutes  such  as  he  was  living  now  fires  a  man 
for  months — yes,  years,  of  work.  Ahead  were  days 
when  the  fires  of  inspiration  would  be  in  abeyance, 
when  the  work  would  be  only  a  working  of  step  by 
step — detail,  some  would  call  it  drudgery.  But  it  is 
in  these  moments  of  inspiration  man  qualifies  for  the 
fight.  In  the  hours  of  working  onward  toward  the 
light  he  may  grow  very  weary,  but  he  can  never  for 
get  that  one  day,  for  just  a  moment,  the  light  opened 
to  him.  Moments  such  as  Karl  Hubers  was  living 
now  mark  the  great  man  from  the  small. 

And  his  glowing  moment  was  more  than  a  promise ; 
it  was  also  a  reward.  It  was  spring  now,  and  all 
through  the  winter  he  had  worked  hard.  He  had 
come  back  in  the  fall  determining  in  the  gratitude  of 
his  great  happiness  to  do  the  best  work  of  his  life. 


KARL    IN    HIS    LABORATORY  73 

He  pulled  his  microscope  over  in  front  of  him  and 
looked  over  it  after  the  manner  of  one  dreaming. 
How  many  days  he  had  come  to  it  eager  to  note  the 
slightest  significance  in  its  variations  of  colour,  for 
the  staining  of  the  slides  made  colour  count  in  his 
work  almost  as  it  did  in  Ernestine's,  only  to  be  met 
with  the  non-essential,  more  of  the  husk  and  no  sight 
of  the  kernel.  He  smiled  a  little  to  think  what  a 
bulky  and  stupid  volume  it  would  make  were  he  to 
write  down  all  he  had  done.  If  each  hope,  each  pos 
sibility,  each  experiment  and  verification  were  to  be 
put  down,  he  could  quite  rival  in  bulk  a  government 
report.  And  if  added  to  that  should  be  a  report  of 
the  cases  he  had  watched,  the  operations  he  had  at 
tended,  the  attempts  at  getting  living  matter  and 
of  working  with  dead,  how  large  and  how  useless 
that  volume  would  be  were  it  to  contain  it  all!  He 
had  done  days  and  days  of  useless  work  to  get  the 
slightest  thing  that  was  significant. 

Only  the  week  before  Ernestine  had  laughingly 
read  him  an  article  one  of  the  popular  magazines 
printed  on  cancer  research.  The  whole  thing  is  be 
coming  a  farce — so  said  the  popular  magazine. 
Every  once  in  a  while  some  man  issues  a  report  say 
ing  the  germ  is  in  sight.  Then  another  man  appears 
with  a  still  more  learned  report  saying  it  is  not  a 
germ  at  all.  All  doing  different  things,  and  all  sure 
they  are  on  the  right  track!  Meanwhile  the  disease 
is  on  the  increase,  surgery  cannot  meet  it  satisfac 
torily,  and  while  laboratories  pursue  the  peaceful 
tenor  of  their  way,  men  and  women  are  dying  hard 


74  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

deaths  which  no  one  seems  able  to  stay.  Truly,  the 
man  behind  the  microscope  is  a  very  slow  man  the 
article  had  concluded. 

No  doubt  that  seemed  true.  He  could  see  the 
writer's  point  of  view  well  enough.  The  things  the 
man  behind  the  microscope  did  accomplish  sounded 
so  very  easy  that  the  on-looker  could  give  only  indo 
lence  and  stupidity  as  the  reason  for  not  accomplish 
ing  a  great  deal  more. 

And  even  from  his  own  point  of  view,  with  his  own 
knowledge  of  all  the  facts  in  the  case,  he  had  no  doubt 
that  once  done  it  would  sound  so  easy  that  he 
would  stand  amazed  to  think  it  had  not  been  done 
before.  Let  the  unknown  become  the  known,  and 
even  the  trained  worker  cannot  look  upon  it  as  other 
than  a  matter  of  course.  It  was  so  easy  now  to  meet 
diphtheria.  Strange  they  had  let  so  many  children 
die  of  it !  It  was  so  very  easy  now  to  give  a  man  an 
ansesthetic.  Fearful  how  they  had  let  a  man  suffer 
through  every  stroke  of  the  knife,  or  die  for  need  of 
it !  Should  he  blame  the  man  outside  for  looking  at 
it  that  way  when  even  to  him  things  accomplished 
took  on  that  matter  of  course  aspect? 

He  began  putting  away  his  things.  It  was  Er 
nestine's  birthday,  and  he  had  promised  to  be  home 
early,  for  they  were  going  to  the  theatre.  "  It  will 
be  like  all  the  rest,"  he  mused.  "  Once  done,  it  will 
seem  so  easy  that  we  will  wonder  why  it  was  not  done 
long  before."  Again  the  fire  leaped  high  within 
him.  To  do  it!  Perhaps  after  all  he  did  see  it 
too  complexly.  He  must  not  let  the  husk  dull  his  eye 


KARL    IN    HIS    LABORATORY  75 

to  the  kernel.  A  man  building  a  beautiful  tower 
must  erect  a  scaffold.  But  the  scaffolding  should  not 
make  him  forget  the  tower!  Some  way  in  this  last 
hour  his  mind  had  seemed  to  clear.  His  immense 
amount  of  useless  work  was  not  hanging  about  his 
neck  like  a  millstone.  Something  had  cut  that  away. 
He  was  free  from  it  all.  He  could  feel  within  him 
self  that  his  approach  to  his  problem  was  better  than 
it  had  been  before.  Perhaps  he  had  made  the  mistake 
of  the  others  of  looking  at  it  as  something  fearfully 
complex,  something  it  would  be  the  hardest  thing  in 
all  the  world  for  any  man  to  do.  It  all  looked  more 
simple  now.  It  was  as  if  muscles  strained  to  the 
point  of  tenseness  had  relaxed,  and  in  an  easy  and 
natural  way  he  foresaw  victory  as  a  logical  part  of 
his  work. 

He  was  happy  to-night,  light-hearted.  The  win 
dows  of  the  laboratory  were  open  to  the  soft  air  of 
that  glorious  day  of  early  spring,  and  his  spirit  was 
open  too,  open  to  the  soul  of  the  world,  taking  unto 
itself  the  sweet  and  simple  spirit  of  the  men  who  have 
done  the  greatest  things.  From  his  window  he  could 
see  one  of  the  tennis  courts.  Some  of  the  students 
were  playing.  "  Good !  "  he  exclaimed  enthusiasti 
cally  to  himself,  as  he  watched  a  return  that  had 
looked  impossible.  He  was  glad  they  were  playing 
tennis.  Why  shouldn't  they? 

Professor  Hastings  heard  him  whistling  softly  to 
himself — a  German  love  song — as  he  walked  through 
the  big  laboratory,  and  catching  a  glimpse  of  the 
younger  man's  face,  he  nodded  his  head  and  smiled. 


76    THE    GLORY    OF.    THE    CONQUERED 

It  had  been  a  good  afternoon — that  was  plain.  Now 
let  there  be  more  afternoons  like  this — and  then — to 
think  it  should  be  done  right  here  under  his  very  eyes  ! 
Was  not  that  joy  enough  for  any  man? 

On  the  steps  of  the  building  Karl  stopped  sud 
denly,  put  his  hand  in  his  inner  pocket  and  drew  out 
a  small  box.  Yes,  it  was  there  all  right,  and  a  girl 
passing  up  the  steps  just  then  was  amazed  and  much 
fluttered  to  think  Dr.  Hubers  should  be  smiling  so 
beautifully  at  her.  In  fact,  Dr.  Hubers  did  not  know 
that  the  girl  was  passing.  She  had  simply  been  in 
the  direction  of  his  smile ;  and  he  was  smiling  because 
it  was  Ernestine's  birthday,  and  because  he  had  so 
beautiful  a  present  for  her.  He  walked  along  very 
fast.  He  could  scarcely  wait  to  see  her  face  when  he 
gave  it  to  her.  Too  bad  he  had  kept  her  waiting  so 
long! 


CHAPTER    XI 

PICTURES    IN    THE    EMBERS 

THEY  were  back  home  now. 
"Why,    Mary    has    intuitions,"    laughed 
Ernestine,  when  she  saw  that  a  fire  had  been 
lighted  in  the  library,  and  was  in  just  the 
proper  state  for  seeing  pictures.     "  A  girl  who  knew 
we  would  want  a  fire  has  either  been  in  love  or  ought 
to  be.    At  any  rate,  she  knows  we  are." 

"  This  is  the  kind  of  a  night  when  a  fire  serves 
artistic  purposes  only.  You  don't  need  it,  so  you 
have  to  enjoy  it  all  the  more." 

"  Still,  these  spring  evenings  are  damp,"  she  in 
sisted,  defending  the  fire.  "  It  doesn't  feel  at  all 
uncomfortable." 

"  And  looks  immense,"  he  added,  turning  down  the 
gas  and  pulling  up  a  seat  just  right  for  sitting  be 
fore  the  fire. 

She  leaned  over,  holding  her  hand  so  close  to  the 
flame  that  he  wondered  at  first  what  she  was  doing. 

"  See !  "  she  cried,  "  see  my  ruby  in  the  firelight, 
Karl!  It's  just  a  piece  of  it  right  up  here  on  my 
hand!" 

"  And  I  suppose," — seeming  to  be  injured — "  that 
during  the  remainder  of  my  life,  I  may  play  second 
fiddle  to  that  ring.  Oh,  Ernestine — you're  a  woman ! 
I  was  mortified  to  death  at  the  theatre.  You  didn't 

77 


78  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

look  at  the  play  at  all.  You  just  sat  and  looked 
down  at  that  ring.  Oh,  I  saw  through  that  thing  of 
not  being  able  to  fasten  your  glove !  " 

She  was  twisting  her  hand  about  to  show  off  the 
stone — any  woman  of  any  land  who  has  ever  owned 
a  ring  knows  just  how  to  do  it. 

"  See,  dear !  "  she  laughed  exultantly,  "  it  is  fire ! 
You  can  see  things  in  it  just  as  you  can  in  the  coals." 

But  he  was  not  looking  at  the  ring.  There  were 
things  to  be  seen  in  her  face  and  he  was  looking  at 
them.  He  loved  this  child  in  her.  Was  it  in  all 
women  when  they  love,  he  wondered,  as  many  other 
men  have  wondered  of  other  women,  or  was  it  just 
Ernestine  ? 

"  It  was  a  dreadful  thing  for  you  to  get  it,"  she 
scolded, — these  affectionate  scoldings  were  a  great 
joy  to  him.  "  It's  a  ridiculous  thing  for  a  poor  col 
lege  professor — that's  you — to  buy  a  ruby  ring. 
Why,  rubies  exist  just  to  show  millionaires  how  rich 
they  are!  And  it's  a  scandalous  thing  for  a  poor 
man's  wife — that's  I — to  be  wearing  a  real  ruby!" 
Then  her  other  hand  went  over  the  ring,  and  clasp 
ing  both  to  her  breast  she  laughed  gleefully :  "  But 
it's  mine !  They'll  not  get  it  now !  " 

"Who  wants  it,  foolish  child?  "  he  asked,  pressing 
her  head  to  his  shoulder  and  holding  the  ring  hand 
in  his. 

She  moved  a  little  nearer  to  him. 

"  See  some  pictures  for  me  in  the  fire,"  she  com 
manded.  "  See  something  nice." 

"  I  see  a  beautiful  lady  wearing  a  beautiful  ring. 


PICTURES    IN  THE    EMBERS  79 

See? — right  under  that  top  piece  of  coal.  The 
ring  is  growing  larger  and  larger  and  larger.  Now 
it  is  so  large  you  can't  see  the  lady  at  all,  just  noth 
ing  but  the  ring." 

She  laughed.  "  Now  see  one  that  isn't  silly.  See 
a  beautiful  one." 

"  Liebchen,  I  see  two  people  who  are  growing  old. 
See? — right  down  here.  One  of  them  must  be  sixty 
now,  and  one  about  seventy,  but  they're  smiling  just 
as  they  did  when  they  were  young.  And  they're 
whispering  that  they  love  each  other  a  great  deal 
better  now  than  they  did  in  those  days  of  long  ago ; 
that  it  has  grown  and  grown  until  it  is  a  bigger 
thing  than  the  love  of  youth  ever  dreamed  of." 

"  That  is  nice,"  she  murmured  happily.  "  That 
would  be  a  nice  picture  to  paint."  They  were  silent 
for  a  time,  perhaps  both  seeing  pictures  of  their  own. 
"  It's  growing  late,"  said  Ernestine,  a  little  drowsily, 
"  but  then,  I'll  never  have  this  birthday  again." 

"  And  it  was  happy?  "  he  asked  tenderly.  "  Just 
as  happy  as  you  wanted  it  to  be?  " 

"  So  happy  that  I  hate  to  see  it  go.  It  was — just 
right." 

"Weren't  any  of  the  others  happy,  dear?" — he 
was  stroking  her  hair,  thinking  that  it  too  had  caught 
little  touches  of  the  fire-light. 

"  None  of  the  others  were  perfect.  Of  course,  last 
year  was  our  first  one  together,  and" — a  shudder 
ran  through  her. 

"  I  know,  dear,"  he  hastened ;  "  I  know  that  wasn't 
a  perfect  day," 


80  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

"  Before  that,"  she  went  on,  after  a  minute  of 
looking  a  long  way  into  the  fire,  "  something  always 
happened.  My  birthday  seemed  ill-fated.  That 
was  why  I  wanted  a  happy  one  so  much — to  make  up 
for  all  the  others.  This  day  began  right  by  the  work 
going  so  splendidly.  Is  there  anything  much  more 
satisfying  than  the  feeling  which  comes  at  the  close 
of  a  good  day's  work?  It  puts  you  on  such  good 
terms  with  yourself,  convinces  you  that  you  have  a 
perfect  right  to  be  alive.  Then  this  afternoon  I  read 
some  things  which  I  had  read  long  ago  and  didn't 
understand  then  as  I  do  now.  You  see,  there  was  a 
great  deal  I  didn't  know  before  I  loved  you,  Karl; 
and  books  are  just  human  enough  to  want  to  be  met 
half  way." 

"  Like  men,"  he  commented,  meeting  her  then  a 
trifle  more  than  half  way. 

"  Yes,  they  have  to  be  petted  and  fussed  over,  just 
like  men.  Now,  Karl,  are  you  listening  or  are  you 
not?" 

He  assured  her  that  he  was  listening. 

"  Then,  this  afternoon,  Georgia  came  out  and  we 
went  for  a  row  on  the  lagoon  in  Jackson  Park.  Did 
you  happen  to  look  out  and  see  how  beautiful  it  was 
this  afternoon,  Karl?  I  wish  you  would  do  that  once 
in  a  while.  Germs  and  cells  and  things  aren't  so  very 
aesthetic,  you  know,  and  I  don't  like  to  have  you 
miss  things.  I  was  thinking  about  you' as  we  passed 
the  university.  It  seemed  such  a  big,  wonderful 
place,  and  I  love  to  think  of  what  it  is  your  work 
really  means.  I  am  so  proud  of  you,  Karl !  " 


PICTURES    IN  THE    EMBERS  81 

"  And  was  it  nice  down  there?  "  he  asked,  just  to 
bring  her  back  to  her  story  of  the  day. 

"  So  beautiful !  You  and  I  must  go  often  now  that 
the  spring  evenings  have  come.  There  is  one  place 
where  you  come  out  from  a  bridge,  and  can  see  the 
German  building,  left  from  the  World's  Fair,  across 
a  great  sweep  of  lights  and  shadows.  People  who 
want  to  go  to  Europe  and  can't,  should  go  down 
there  and  look  at  that.  It's  so  old-worldish. 

"Then   Georgia   and   I   had   a   fine   talk," — after 
another  warm,  happy  silence.     "  Georgia  never  was 
so  nice.      She  was  telling  me  all  about   a  man.     I 
shouldn't  wonder;  but  I  mustn't  tell  even  you—not 
yet.     Then  I  came  home  and  here  were  the  beautiful 
flowers  from  Dr.  Parkman.     Karl — you  did  tell  him ! 
Honest    now — you    did — and    it    was    awful.     Why 
didn't  you  put  it  in  the  university  paper  so  that  all 
the  students  could  send  me  things?     That  nice  boy, 
Harry  Wyman,  wrote  a  poem  about  me — '  To  the 
Lovely  Lady  ' — now  you  needn't  laugh !     And  oh,  I 
don't  know,  but  it  all  seemed  so  beautiful  and  right 
when  I  came  home  this  afternoon.     I  love  our  house 
more  and  more.     I  love  those  funny  knobs  on  the 
doors,  and  this  library  seems  just  us!    I  was  so  happy 
I  couldn't  keep  from  singing,  and  you  know  I  can't 
sing  at  all.     Then  you  came  home !    You  had  the  box 
out  in  your  hand — I  saw  it  clear  across  the  street. 
You  were  smiling  just  like  a  boy.     I  shall  never  for 
get  how  you  looked  as  you  gave  me  the  ring.      I 
think,  after  all,  that  look  was  my  real  birthday  gift. 
— Now,  Karl,  don't  you  know  you   shouldn't  have 


82  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

bought   such   a   ring?      But,   oh!— I   am  so   happy 
sweetheart." 

He  kissed  her.  His  heart  was  very  full.  There 
was  nothing  he  could  say,  so  he  kissed  her  again  and 
laid  his  cheek  upon  her  hair. 

He  knew  she  was  growing  sleepy.  Sleep  was  com 
ing  to  her  as  it  does  to  the  child  who  has  had  its  long, 
happy  day.  But  like  the  child,  she  would  not  give 
up  until  the  last.  It  was  true,  he  was  sure,  that  she 
was  loath  to  let  the  day  go. 

'  The  play  to-night  was  very  nice,"  she  said,  rous 
ing  a  little,  "  but  so  short-sighted." 

"  Short-sighted,  liebchen?     How?  " 

"  So  many  things  in  literature  stop  short  when  the 
people  are  married.  I  think  that's  such  an  immature 
point  of  view — just  as  if  that  were  the  end  of  the 
story.  And  when  they  write  stories  about  married 
people  they  usually  have  them  terribly  unhappy 
about  having  to  live  together,  and  wishing  they  could 
live  with  some  one  else.  It  seems  to  me  they  leave  out 
the  best  part." 

"  The  best  part,  I  suppose,  meaning  us?  " 

"Yes!" 

"  But,  dear,  if  you  and  I  were  written  up,  just  as 
we  are,  we'd  be  called  two  idiots." 

"  Would  we?  " — her  head  was  caressing  his  coat. 

"  Have  you  ever  thought  how  a  stenographic  or 
phonographic  report  of  some  of  our  conversations 
would  sound?  " 

"  Beautiful,"  she  murmured. 

"Crazy!"  he  insisted. 


PICTURES    IN  THE    EMBERS  83 

"  Perhaps  the  world  didn't  mean  people  to  be  so 
happy  as  we  are," — her  words  stumbled  drowsily. 

"  The  world  isn't  as  good  to  many  people  as  it  is 
to  us.  Oh,  sweetheart — why,"-  -  he  held  her  closely 
but  very  tenderly,  for  he  knew  she  was  going  to 
sleep — "  why  are  we  so  happy  ?  " 

"  Because  I'm  the — lovely — lady," — it  came  from 
just  outside  the  land  of  dreams. 

It  was  sweet  to  have  her  go  to  sleep  in  his  arms  like 
this.  He  trembled  with  the  joy  of  holding  her,  look 
ing  at  her  face  with  eyes  of  tenderest  love,  rejoicing 
in  her,  worshipping  her.  He  went  over  the  things 
she  had  said,  his  whole  being  mellowed,  divinely  ex 
ultant,  at  thought  of  her  going  to  sleep  just  because 
she  was  tired  from  her  day  of  happiness.  Long  ago 
his  mother  had  taught  him  to  pray,  and  he  prayed 
now  that  he  might  keep  her  always  as  she  was  to-day, 
that  he  might  guard  her  ever  as  she  had  that  sense 
now  of  being  guarded,  that  her  only  weariness  might 
come  as  this  had  come,  because  she  was  so  happy. 
How  beautiful  she  was  as  she  slept !  The  Lovely 
Lady — that  boy  had  said  it  right,  after  all.  And  she 
was  his! — his  treasure — his  joy — his  sweetest  thing 
in  life !  He  had  heard  a  discussion  over  at  the  uni 
versity  a  few  days  before  about  the  equality  of  man 
and  woman.  How  foolish  that  seemed  in  this  divine 
moment !  God  in  His  great  far-sightedness  had  given 
to  the  world  a  masculine  and  a  feminine  soul.  How 
insane  to  talk  of  their  being  alike,  when  the  highest 
happiness  in  life  came  through  their  being  so  entirely 
different !  And  she  was  his !  Other  men  could  send 


84  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

her  flowers — write  poems  about  her  loveliness — but 
she  was  his,  all  his.  His  to  love  and  cherish  and  pro 
tect — to  work  for — live  for ! 

He  kissed  her,  and  her  eyes  opened.  "  Poor  little 
girl's  so  tired ;  but  she'll  have  to  wake  up  enough  to 
go  to  bed." 

She  smiled,  murmured  something  that  sounded  like 
"  Happy  day,"  and  went  to  sleep  again. 

The  fire  had  died  low.  He  sat  there  a  minute 
longer  dreaming  before  it,  thanking  God  for  a  home, 
for  work  and  love  and  happiness.  Then  he  picked 
Ernestine  up  in  his  arms  as  one  would  pick  up  the 
little  child  too  tired  to  walk  to  bed.  "  Oh,  liebchen," 
he  breathed  in  tender  passion,  as  she  nestled  close  to 
him,— "ich  liebe  dich!" 


CHAPTER    XII 
A   WARNING   AND   A   PREMONITION 

IT  put  him  very  much  out  of  patience  to  have 
his   eyes   bothering   him   just   when   he  was   so 
anxious  to  work.     What  in  the  world  was  the 
matter  with  them,  he  wondered,  as  he  directed  a 
couple  of  students  on  some  work  they  were  helping 
him  with.    It  seemed  that  yesterday  afternoon  he  had 
taken  a  new  start ;  now  he  was  eager  to  work  things 
out  while  he  felt  like  this.     This  was  a  very  inoppor 
tune  time  for  a  cold,  or  whatever  it  was,  to  settle  in 
his    eyes.     Perhaps    the   lights    at    the    theatre    last 
night,    and   then    the    wind    coming   home — but   he 
smiled  an  intimate  little  smile  with  himself  at  thought 
of  last  night  and  forgot  all  about  that  sandy  feeling 
in  his  eyes. 

During  the  morning  it  almost  passed  away.  When 
he  thought  of  it  at  all,  it  was  only  to  be  thankful 
it  was  not  amounting  to  anything,  for  he  was  anxious 
to  do  a  good  day's  work.  He  would  hate  it  if  any 
thing  were  to  happen  to  his  eyes  and  he  had  to  wear 
glasses  1  He  had  never  had  the  slightest  trouble  with 
them ;  in  fact  they  had  served  him  so  well  that  he  never 
gave  them  any  thought.  The  idea  came  now  of  how 
impossible  it  would  be  to  do  anything  without  them. 
His  work  depended  entirely  on  seeing  things  right; 

85 


86  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

it  was  the  appearance  of  things  in  their  different 
stages  which  told  the  story. 

Dr.  Hubers  had  a  queer  little  trick  with  his  eyes ; 
the  students  who  worked  with  him  had  often  noticed  it. 
He  had  a  way  of  resting  his  finger  in  the  corner  of 
his  eye  when  thinking.  Sometimes  it  would  rest  in  one 
eye  for  awhile,  and  then  if  he  became  a  little  restless, 
moved  under  a  new  thought,  he  would  slip  his  finger 
meditatively  over  his  nose  to  the  corner  of  the  other, 
eye.  It  did  not  signify  anything  in  particular, 
merely  an  unconscious  mannerism.  Some  men  pull 
their  hair,  others  gnaw  their  under  lip,  and  with  him 
it  was  a  queer  little  way  of  rubbing  his  finger  in 
his  eye. 

It  was  Saturday,  and  that  was  always  a  good  day 
for  him  as  he  could  give  all  of  his  time  to  the  labor 
atory.  He  was  especially  anxious  to  have  things 
go  well  this  morning,  as  he  wanted  to  stop  at  two 
o'clock  and  go  down  to  one  of  Dr.  Parkman's  opera 
tions.  That  end  of  it  was  very  important  and  this 
was  to  be  an  especially  good  operation. 

He  was  thinking  about  Dr.  Parkman  on  the  way 
down ; — of  the  man's  splendid  surgery.  It  was  a 
real  joy  to  see  him, work.  He  did  big  things  so  very 
easily  and  quietly ;  not  at  all  as  though  they  were 
overwhelming  him.  Poor  Parkman — things  should 
have  gone  differently  with  him.  If  it  had  been  almost 
any  other  man,  it  would  have  mattered  less,  but  it 
seemed  a  matter  of  a  lifetime  with  Parkman.  He 
could  understand  that  better  now  than  he  once  had. 
To  have  found  Ernestine  and  then — then  to  have 


A    WARNING    AND    A    PREMONITION     87 

found  she  was  not  Ernestine!  But  of  course  in  the 
case  of  Ernestine  that  could  not  be.  Now  if  Parkman 
had  only  found  an  Ernestine— but  then  he  couldn't 
very  well,  for  there  was  only  one !  Since  the  first 
of  time,  there  had  been  only  one — and  she  was  his! 
He  fell  to  dreaming  of  how  she  had  looked  last  night 
in  the  fire-light,  and  almost  forgot  the  station  at 
which  he  was  to  get  off. 

He  was  in  very  jubilant  mood  when  they  went 
down  to  Dr.  Parkman's  office  after  the  operation.  It 
had  verified  some  of  his  own  conclusions;  seemed 
fairly  to  stand  as  an  endorsement  of  what  he  held. 
He  had  never  felt  more  sure  of  himself,  had  never 
seen  his  way  more  clearly.  It  was  a  great  thing  to 
have  facts  bear  one  out,  to  see  made  real  what  one 
had  believed  to  be  true.  He  went  over  it  all  with 
Parkman,  putting  his  case  clearly,  convincingly,  his 
points  standing  out  true  and  unassailable ;  throwing 
away  all  the  irrelevant,  picking  out  unerringly,  the 
ittle  kernel  of  truth  ;—  a  big  mind  this,  a  mind  quali 
fied  to  cope  with  big  problems.  Dr.  Parkman  had 
never  seen  so  clearly  as  he  did  to-day  how  absolutely 
his  friend  possessed  those  peculiar  qualities  the  work 
demanded.  He  had  never  felt  more  sure  of  Karl's 
power ;  and  power  did  not  cover  it — not  quite. 

"  Something  in  your  eye?  "  he  asked  when,  just  as 
Karl  was  about  to  leave,  he  seemed  to  be  bothered  with 
his  eye,  and  was  rubbing  it  a  little. 

" 1  don't  know.  It's  felt  off  and  on  all  day  as 
though  something  was  the  matter  with  them  both." 

"  Want  me  to  take  a  look  at  them?  " 


£8  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

"  Oh  no — no,  it's  nothing." 

"  By  the  way,  you  have  a  bad  trick  with  your  eyes. 
I've  noticed  it  several  times  lately  and  intended 
to  tell  you  about  it.  You  have  a  way  of  rubbing 
them ; — not  rubbing  them  exactly,  but  pressing  your 
finger  in  them.  I'd  quit  that  if  I  were  you.  If  you 
must  put  your  finger  somewhere,  put  it  on  your  nose. 
A  man  dealing  with  the  stuff  you  do  can't  be  too  care 
ful." 

"  Why,  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Simply  what  I  say.  One  drop  of  some  of  those 
things  you  have  out  there  would  be — a  drop  too 
much." 

"  Now,  look  here,  you  don't  think  I'm  any  such 
a  bungler  as  that,  do  you?  " 

"  Hum !  You  ought  to  know  your  medical  history 
well  enough  to  know  that  all  the  victims  haven't 
been  bunglers,  by  a  long  sight." 

Karl's  hand  was  on  the  knob.  "  Well,  don't  worry 
about  me;  I'm  not  built  for  a  victim.  I  may  be  run 
over  by  an  automobile — anybody  is  liable  to  be  run 
over  by  yours,  the  way  you  run  that  thing — but 
I'm  not  liable  to  be  killed  by  my  own  sword.  That's 
not  the  way  I  work." 

"  Just  the  same,  you'd  better  keep  your  hands  out 
of  your  eyes ! " 

"  All  right,"  he  agreed  laughingly.  "  It  does 
sound  like  a  fool's  trick.  It's  new  to  me; — didn't 
know  that  I  did  it." 

When  he  was  making  some  calls  late  that  evening, 
Dr.  Parkman  passed  the  university  and  for  some 


A   WARNING*   AND    A   PREMONITION     89 

reason  recalled  what  Karl  had  said  that  afternoon 
about  his  eyes  bothering  him.  Why  hadn't  he  exam 
ined  them;  or  better  still,  one  of  the  best  oculists  in 
the  city  was  right  there  in  the  building — why  hadn't 
he  made  Karl  go  in  to  see  him?  It  was  criminal  for 
a  man  like  that  to  neglect  his  eyes !  He  was  near  the 
Hubers  now ;  he  had  an  impulse  to  run  over  and  make 
sure  that  everything  was  all  right.  He  slowed  up 
the  machine  and  looked  at  his  watch.  No,  it  was 
almost  eleven ;  he  would  not  go  now.  After  all  he 
was  silly  to  be  attaching  any  weight  to  such  a  thing 
as  a  man's  rubbing  his  eyes.  He  smiled  a  little  as 
he  thought  of  it  that  way.  Karl  wasn't  bothering 
about  it ;  so  why  should  he  ? 

But  he  had  it  on  his  mind,  thinking  of  it  frequently 
until  he  went  to  bed.  And  the  thing  which  worried 
him  most  was  that  he  was  worrying  a  great  deal  more 
than  the  facts  in  the  case  warranted.  He  was  not 
given  to  taking  notions,  and  that  was  just  what  this 
seemed.  One  would  suppose  that  a  man  like  Hubers 
would  be  able  to  look  out  for  himself, — "but  for  a 
fool,  give  me  a  great  man ! "  was  the  thought  with 
which  the  doctor  went  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER    XIH 
AN  UNCROSSED   BRIDGE 

KARL  awoke  next  morning  with  the  sense  of 
something  wrong.     Something  was  making 
him  uncomfortable,  but  he  was  not  wide 
enough  awake  at  first  to  locate  the  trouble. 
He  lay  there  dozing  for  a  few  minutes  and  when  he 
roused  again  he  knew  that  his   eyes   were  hurting 
badly.      He   awakened   instantly   then.      His    eyes? 
Why,  they  had  bothered  him  a  little  all  day  yes 
terday.    Was 'there  something  the  matter  with  them? 
He  got  up,  raised  the  shade  and  looked  in  the 
glass.     They  looked  badly  irritated,  both  of  them. 
They  felt  wretchedly ;  he  could  scarcely  keep  looking 
into  the  glass.     Then  leaning  over  the  dressing  table, 
he  looked  more  closely.     He  thought  he  saw  some 
thing  he  did  not  like.     He  took  a  hand  mirror  and 
went  to  the  window.     He  could  see  better  now,  and 
the  better  light  verified  the  other  one.     It  was  true 
that  in  the  corner  of  one  eye  there  was  a  drop  of 
pus.     In  the  other  there  was  a  suggestion  of  the 
same  thing. 

He  began  to  dress,  proceeding  slowly,  his  brows 
knitted,  evidently  thinking  about  something,  and 
worried.  Then  he  opened  a  drawer,  took  out  a  hand 
kerchief,  got  the  drop  of  pus  from  his  eye  and  ar 
ranged  the  handkerchief  for  preserving  it. 

90 


AN    UNCROSSED    BRIDGE  91 

He  would  find  out  about  that,  and  the  sooner  the 
better!  He  did  not  like  it.  He  would  see  an  oculist, 
too,  this  morning.  It  was  plain  he  was  going  to 
have  some  trouble  with  his  eyes. 

Ernestine  noticed  them  at  once.  What  made  them 
so  red? — she  wanted  to  know.  Did  they  hurt?  And 
wasn't  there  something  he  could  put  in  them?  He 
told  her  he  was  going  to  look  after  them  at  once. 
He  could  not  afford  to  lose  any  time,  and  of  course 
he  could  do  nothing  without  his  eyes. 

Immediately  after  breakfast  he  started  over  to 
the  laboratory. 

It  was  Sunday  morning  and  there  would  be  no  one 
there,  which  was  so  much  the  better.  He  wanted  to 
get  this  straightened  out. 

He  had  his  head  down  all  the  way  over  to  the  uni 
versity,  partly  because  his  eyes  bothered  him  and 
partly  because  he  was' thinking  hard.  The  trouble 
had  evidently  been  coming  on  yesterday.  He  stopped 
short.  That  trick  Parkman  told  him  about!  But 
of  course — moving  on  a  little — that  could  not  have 
anything  to  do  with  this.  He  had  no  recollection — 
he  was  very  sure — then  he  walked  faster,  and  the 
lines  of  his  mouth  told  that  he  was  troubled. 

When  he  reached  the  laboratory  he  began  imme 
diately  upon  the  microscopic  examination.  He  hoped 
he  could  get  at  it  through  that,  for  the  culture  pro-  . 
cess  meant  a  long  wait.  But  after  fifteen  minutes 
of  careful  work  the  "  smear "  proved  negative. 
There  remained  then  only  the  longer  route  of  the 
culture. 


92  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

He  did  not  begin  upon  that  immediately.  He  sat 
there  trying  to  think  back  to  just  what  it  was  he 
had  been  doing  Friday  afternoon.  The  latter  part 
of  the  afternoon  he  had  been  sitting  here  by  this 
table.  That  was  the  time  he  was  so  buoyed  up — 
getting  so  fine  a  light  on  the  thing.  It  was  the  can 
cer  problem  then — but  in  the  nature  of  things  noth 
ing  could  have  happened  with  that.  But  there  were 
always  other  things — all  those  things  known  to  the 
pathological  laboratory. 

He  turned  around  toward  the  culture  oven,  opened 
the  outer  door  and  through  the  inner  door  of  glass 
looked  in  at  the  row  of  tubes.  He  was  trying  to 
recall  what  it  was  he  had  been  working  with  the 
earlier  part  of  Friday  afternoon. 

He  knew  now ;  one  of  the  tubes  had  brought  it  to 
him.  Yes,  he  knew  now,  and  within  him  there  was  a 
pause,  and  a  stillness.  Righfr  over  there  was  where 
he  sat  preparing  some  cultures.  There  were  two 
things  with  which  he  had  been  working; — again  a 
pause,  and  a  stillness.  One  of  them  could  not  make 
any  serious  difference;  he  went  that  far  firmly,  and 
then  his  heart  seemed  to  stand  quite  still,  waiting 
for  his  thought  to  go  on.  But  he  did  not  go  on; 
there  was  a  little  convulsive  clutching  of  his  con 
sciousness,  and  a  return,  with  acclaim,  to  the  fact 
that  that  could  not  make  any  serious  difference.  He 
clung  there;  he  would  not  leave  that;  doggedly, 
defiantly,  insistently,  all-embracingly  he  affirmed  that 
that  could  not  make  any  serious  difference.  It  was 
without  opening  his  thought  to  anything  further 


AN    UNCROSSED    BRIDGE  93 

that  he  got  out  his  things  and  began  preparing  the 
culture. 

He  was  so  accustomed  to  this  that  it  went  very 
mechanically  and  quickly.  He  took  one  of  the  test 
tubes  arranged  for  the  process  in  the  culture  oven 
and  with  the  small  wire  instrument  he  had  there, 
lifted  the  drop  of  pus  on  the  handkerchief  into  the 
bullion  of  the  tube.  He  did  it  all  very  carefully, 
very  exactly,  just  as  he  always  did.  Then  he  put 
the  tuft  of  cotton  over  the  top  and  placed  the  tube 
in  that  strange-looking  box  commonly  called  a  culture 
oven.  In  twenty-four  hours  he  would  know  the 
truth.  He  adjusted  the  gas  with  a  firm  hand,  arrang 
ing  with  his  usual  precision  this  thing  which  out 
wardly  was  like  any  of  his  experiments  and  which  in 
reality — but  he  would  not  go  into  that. 

Now  for  an  oculist.  His  eyes  were  hurting 
badly;  it  was  time  to  do  whatever  there  was  to  be 
done.  After  all  he  was  rather  jumping  at  conclu 
sions.  There  was  a  big  chance  that  this  was  just 
something  characteristic  to  eyes  and  had  no  rela 
tion  to  the  things  of  his  work.  He  seized  upon  that, 
ridiculing  himself  for  having  looked  right  over  the 
most  simple  and  natural  explanation  of  all.  Did  not 
a  great  many  people  have  trouble  with  their  eyes? 

That  nerved  him  up  all  the  way  down  town.  He 
was  almost  ready  to  think  it  a  great  joke,  the  way 
he  had  hurried  over  to  the  laboratory  and  had  gone 
at  it  in  that  life-and-death  fashion. 

He  knew  that  the  oculist  in  Dr.  Parkman's  build 
ing  was  a  good  one,  and  so  he  went  there.  It  was  a 


94    THE    GLORY    OF    THE    .CONQUERED 

little  disconcerting  when  he  stepped  into  the  ele 
vator  to  meet  Dr.  Parkman  himself.  He  had  not 
thought  of  trying  especially  to  avoid  the  doctor, 
but  he  had  wanted  to  see  the  oculist  first  and  get 
the  thing  straightened  out.  He  was  counting  a  great 
deal  now  on  the  oculist. 

"  Hello ! "  said  the  doctor,  seeming  startled  at 
first,  and  then  after  one  sharp  glance :  "  Going  up 
to  see  me?  " 

"  Well,  yes,  after  a  little.  Fact  of  the  matter  is 
I  thought  I'd  run  in  and  let  this  eye  fellow  take  a 
look  at  me." 

"  Eyes  bothering  you?  " 

"  Somewhat."     He  said  it  shortly,  almost  curtly. 

When  they  reached  the  fifth  floor,  Dr.  Parkman 
stepped  out  with  him,  although  he  himself  belonged 
farther  up. 

"  I  know  him  pretty  well,"  he  explained,  "  I'll  go 
with  you." 

He  could  not  very  well  say :  "  I  would  rather  you 
would  not,"  although  for  some  reason  he  felt  that 
way. 

It  was  soon  clear  to  their  initiated  minds  that  the 
oculist  did  not  know  the  exact  nature  of  the  trouble. 
He  admitted  that  the  case  perplexed  him.  He,  too, 
must  make  an  examination  of  the  pus.  He  treated 
Karl's  eyes,  and  advised  that  they  begin  upon  an  im 
mediate  and  aggressive  course  of  treatment.  Dr. 
Parkman,  observing  Karl's  growing  irritability,  said 
that  he  would  look  after  all  that,  see  that  the  right 
thing  was  done. 


AN    UNCROSSED    BRIDGE  95 

As  he  walked  out  of  that  office  Karl  was  a  little 
dizzy.  His  avenue  of  hope  had  grown  narrower.  It 
was  not,  then,  some  affection  characteristic  of  eyes. 
It  was,  after  all,  something  from  without.  It  was, 
in  all  probability,  one  of  two  things, — it  was  either 
• — but  again  he  did  not  go  beyond  the  first,  telling 
himself  with  nervous  buoyancy  that  that  would  not 
make  any  serious  difference. 

They  stepped  into  an  elevator  and  went  up.  He 
knew  Parkman  would  ask  him  questions  now,  but  it 
seemed  he  could  not  get  away  from  the  doctor  if  he 
tried.  He  felt  just  at  present  as  though  he  had  not 
strength  to  resist  any  one.  'That  oculist,  he  ad 
mitted  to  himself,  had  taken  a  good  deal  of  starch 
out  of  him. 

When  they  reached  the  office,  Dr.  Parkman  of 
fered  him  a  drink;  that  irritated  him  considerably. 

"Why  no,"  he  said,  fretfully,  "  No— I  don't 
want  a  drink.  Why  should  I  take  a  drink?  Did 
you  think  I  was  all  shot  to  pieces  about  something?  " 

The  doctor  was  looking  over  his  mail,  fingering  it 
a  great  deal,  but  not  seeming  to  accomplish  much 
of  anything  with  it.  At  last  he  wheeled  around 
toward  him. 

"What's  the  matter  with  your  eyes?"  he  asked 
with  disconcerting  directness. 

"How  should  I  know?"  retorted  Karl,  heatedly, 
almost  angrily.  "What  do  I  know  about  it?  If 
an  oculist  can't  tell — you  say  he  is  a  good  one — 
why  should  you  expect  me  to?  "  And  then  he  added 
with  a  touch  of  eagerness,  as  if  seizing  upon  a 


96    THE    GLORY    OF,    THE    CONQUERED 

possibility :  "  I  don't  believe  that  fellow  amounts 
to  much.  I  think  I'll  go  out  now  and  hunt  up 
somebody  who  knows  something." 

"  The  man's  all  right,"  said  Dr.  Parkman  shortly. 
His  own  foot  was  tapping  the  floor  nervously. 
"  You  ought  to  have  some  idea,"  he  added,  with 
what  he  felt  to  be  brutal  insistence,  "  as  to  whether 
or  not  you  got  anything  in  your  eyes." 

"  Well,  I  haven't !  I  don't  know  anything  about 
it." 

But  he  was  breathing  hard.  His  whole  manner 
told  of  fears  and  possibilities  he  was  not  willing  to 
state.  He  would  tell  what  he  thought  now  in  just 
a  minute;  the  doctor  knew  that. 

He  began  with  insisting,  elaborately,  that  he 
never  got  things  on  his  hands — that  was  not  his 
way ;  and  even  if  he  did  get  something  on  his  hands, 
he  wouldn't  get  it  in  his  eyes;  even  if  he  did  rub 
his  eyes  sometimes — he  didn't  admit  it — but  even  if 
he  did,  would  he  be  such  a  fool  as  to  rub  them  when 
he  had  something  on  his  hands?  But  if,  in  spite  of 
all  those  impossibilities,  just  admitting  for  the  sake 
of  argument,  and  because  Parkman  insisted  on  being 
ominous,  that  it  was  something  like  that,  there  were 
two  things  it  might  be.  It  might  be — he  named  the 
first  with  emphasis,  and  Dr.  Parkman,  after  a  min 
ute's  thought,  heaved  a  big  sigh  of  unmistakable 
relief. 

"  Now  you  see  that  couldn't  make  any  vital  differ 
ence,"  Karl  added,  with  a  debonair  manner,  a  thin 
veneer  of  aggressiveness. 

The  doctor  was   leaning  forward  in  his   chair. 


AN    UNCROSSED    BRIDGE  97 

He  was  beginning  to  grow  fearful  of  the  emphasis 
put  upon  this  thing  which  could  make  no  vital  dif 
ference. 

Karl  stopped  as  though  he  had  reached  the  end  of 
his  story.  But  the  silence  was  wearing  on  him.  His 
eyes  had  a  hunted  look. 

"Why,  you  can  see  for  yourself,"  he  said — and 
this  was  the  note  of  appeal — "that  that  could  not 
make  any  vital  difference." 

Dr.  Parkman  was  looking  at  him  narrowly.  His 
own  breath  was  coming  hard.  He  saw  at  last  that 
he  would  have  to  ask. 

"The — other?  "  he  said,  succeeding  fairly  well  in 
gaining  a  tone  of  indifference. 

"  Heavens — how  you  fellows  nag  for  details ! 
How  you  drag  at  a  man !  Well,  the  other — if  you're 
so  anxious  to  know  " — the  doctor's  heart  .sank  before 
the  defiance  of  that — "  the  other  is  " — h^; looked  all 
about  him  as  one  hunted,  desperate,  and  then  snapped 
it  out  and  turned  away,  and  instantly  the  room  grew 
frightfully  still. 

It  struck  Dr.  Parkman  like  a  blow  from  which 
one  must  have  time  to  recover.  Steeled  though  he 
was  to  the  hearing  of  tragic  facts,  he  was  helpless 
for  the  minute  before  this.  And  then,  refusing  to 
let  it  close  in  upon  him,  it  was  he  who  turned  reck 
lessly  assertive,  defiantly  insistent. 

"  Any  fool  would  know  it's  not  that,"  he  said, 
his  gruff  voice  touched  with  bravado. 

There  was  one  of  those  strange  changes  then. 
Karl  turned  and  faced  him. 

"  How  do  you  know?  "  he  asked,  with  a  calm  not 


98  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

to  be  thrust  aside.  "  How  do  you  know  it's  not 
that?  You  can't  be  sure,"  he  pursued,  and  there  was 
fairly  cunning  in  forcing  his  friend  upon  it,  cutting 
off  all  escape,  "  but  there  are  just  fifty  chances  out 
of  a  hundred  that  it  is  that.  And  if  it  is,"  with 
a  cold,  impersonal  sort  of  smile — "  would  you  give 
very  much  for  my  chances  of  sight  ?  " 

"  You're  talking  like  a  fool !  " — but  beads  of  per 
spiration  were  on  the  doctor's  forehead.  And  then, 
the  professional  man  getting  himself  in  hand: 
"  You're  overworked,  Karl.  You're  nervous.  Why 
I  can  fix  this  up  for  you.  I'll  just — "  but  before 
that  steady,  understanding  gaze  he  could  not  go  on. 

"  Not  on  me,  Parkman — ,"  slowly  and  very  quietly 
— "not  on  me.  I  know  the  ropes.  Don't  try  those 
little  tricks  on  me.  I  don't  need  professional  cod 
dling,  and  I  don't  need  professional  lies.  You  see 
I  happen  to  know  just  a  little  about  the  action  of 
germs.  We'll  do  the  usual  things,  of  course — that's 
mere  scientific  decency,  but  if  this  thing  has  really 
gotten  in  its  work — oh  I've  studied  these  things  a 
little  too  long,  old  man,  I've  watcheo*  them  too  many 
times,  to  be  able  to  fool  myself  now." 

"  Well  you  will  at  least  admit,"  said  Parkman — 
brusque  because  he  was  afraid  to  let  himself  be  any 
thing  else — "  that  there  are  fifty  chances  out  of  a 
hundred  in  your  favour?  " 

Karl  nodded ;  he  had  leaned  back  in  his  chair ;  he 
seemed  terribly  tired. 

"  Come  now,  old  chap — it  isn't  like  you  to  sur 
render  before  the  battle.  We'll  prepare  to  meet  the 


AN   UNCROSSED    BRIDGE  99 

foe — though  I  give  you  my  word  of  honour  I  don't 
expect  the  enemy  to  show  up.  This  isn't  in  the  cards. 
I  know  it." 

Karl  roused  a  little.  There  was  a  bracing  note  in 
that  vehemence.  "  Well,  don't  ask  me  to  do  any 
crossing  of  a  bridge  before  I  come  to  it.  I  think  our 
friend  down  stairs  is  thinking  of  hospitals  and  nurses 
and  all  kinds  of  quirks  that  would  drive  me  crazy. 
Tell  him  I  know  what  I'm  about.  Tell  him  to  let 
me  alone ! " 

"  All  right,"  laughed  the  doctor,  knowing  Karl 
too  well  to  press  the  matter  further  just  then, 
"  though,  of  course,  common-sense  demands  quiet  and 
a  dark  room." 

"  Ernestine  will  darken  our  rooms  at  home,"  said 
Karl  stubbornly. 

It  was  strange  how  quickly  they  could  turn  to  the 
refuge  of  everyday  phrases,  could  hide  their  inner 
most  selves  within  their  average  selves  as  the  only 
shelter  which  opened  to  them.  There  was  something 
Dr.  Parkman  wanted  to  do  for  him,  and  they  went 
into  the  treatment  room.  In  there  they  spoke  about 
meeting  for  dinner, — Ernestine  had  asked  the  doctor 
to  come  out.  Georgia  and  her  mother  were  coming 
too,  Karl  told  him,  and  the  interview  closed  with 
some  light  word  about  not  being  late  for  dinner. 


CHAPTER  XIV 
"TO  THE  GREAT  UNWHIMPERING 1  " 

TELL  me  some  good  stories  about  doctors," 
said  Georgia ;  "  I  want  to  use  them  in 
something  I'm  going  to  write." 

"Isn't  it  dreadful?"  said  Mrs.  McCor- 
mick,  turning  to  Dr.  Parkman,  "  she  even  interviews 
people  while  they  eat ! "  Mrs.  McCormick  had  that 
manner  of  some  mothers  of  seeming  to  be  constantly 
disapproving,  while  not  in  the  least  concealing  her 
unqualified  admiration. 

"  I'm  not  interviewing  them,  Mother.  Skilful 
interviewers  never  interview.  They  just  get  people 
to  talk." 

"  But  what  is  it  you're  going  to  write,"  asked  the 
doctor,  "  a  eulogy  or  denunciation?  " 

"  Both ;  something  characteristic." 

"  Meaning  that  something  characteristic  about 
doctors  would  include  both  good  and  bad?  " 

"  Well,  they're  pretty  human,  aren't  they  ? " 
[laughed  Georgia. 

"  And  think  how  grateful  we  should  be,"  ventured 
Karl,  "  for  the  inference  of  something  good." 

Dr.  Parkman  looked  over  at  him  with  a  hearty: 
"  That's  right,"  relieved  that  his  friend  could  enter 
into  things  at  all. 

100 


'TO   THE   GREAT   UNWHIMPERING ! "    101 

In  the  library  before  they  came  in,  things  had  gone 
badly.  Mrs.  McCormick  held  persistently  to  the  topic 
of  Karl's  eyes,  putting  forth  all  sorts  of  "  home 
remedies  "  which  would  cure  them  in  a  night.  He 
had  grown  nervous  and  irritable  under  it,  and  Mrs. 
Hubers  several  times  had  come  to  the  rescue  with 
her  graciousness.  She  was  worried  herself ;  the  doc 
tor  could  see  that  in  the  way  she  looked  from  her  hus 
band  to  him,  scenting  something  not  on  the  surface. 
He  was  just  beginning  to  fear  the  dinner  was  going 
to  be  miserable  for  them  all,  when  Miss  McCormick 
broke  the  tension  by  asking  for  stories. 

'  Tell  us  what  you're  going  to  write,  Georgia," 
said  Ernestine,  she  too  seizing  at  it  gratefully,  "  and 
then  our  doctors  will  have  a  better  idea  of  what  you 
want." 

"  Well,  I  was  talking  to  Judge  Lee  the  other  day, 

and  he  told  me  some  good  stories  about  lawyers 

characteristic  stories,  you  know.  So  I  thought  I 
would  work  up  a  little  series— lawyers,  doctors,  min 
isters  and  so  on,  and  see  how  nearly  I  could 
reach  the  characteristics  of  the  professions  through 
the  stories  I  tell  of  them;  not  much  of  an  idea, 
perhaps — but  I  know  a  man  who  will  buy  the 
stuff." 

Ernestine  was  smiling  in  a  knowing  little  way. 
"  Do  you  want  to  begin  with  something  really  char 
acteristic?"  she  asked. 

"  That's  it.  Something  to  strike  the  nail  on  the 
head,  first  blow." 

'  Then  lead  off  with  the  story  of  Pasteur's  forget- 


THE    GLORY.    OF.    THE    CONQUERED 

ting  to  go  to  his  own  wedding.  There's  the  most 
characteristic  doctor  story  I  know  of." 

"  That's  a  direct  insult,"  laughed  Karl. 

"  Why,  not  at  all,  Karl,"  protested  Mrs.  McCor- 
mick,  "  every  one  knows  you  were  on  hand  for  your 
wedding." 

"  Yes,  and  a  good  thing  he  was,"  declared  Er 
nestine.  "  I  don't  think  I  should  have  been  as  meek 
and  gentle  about  it  as  the  bride  of  Pasteur.  I 
fancy  I  would  have  said :  6  Oh,  really  now — if  it's 
so  much  trouble,  we'll  just  let  it  go.' ' 

"  No,  Ernestine,"  said  Mrs.  McCormick,  seriously, 
after  the  laugh,  "  I  don't  believe  you  would  have 
said  that," — and  then  they  laughed  again. 

"  Well,  it's  a  good  story,"  she  insisted ;  "  and 
characteristic.  I  believe  after  all  that  Pasteur  was 
a  chemist  and  not  a  doctor,  but  the  doctors  have 
appropriated  him,  so  the  story  will  be  all  right." 

"  If  you  want  to  tell  some  stories  about  Pasteur," 
said  Karl,  "  tell  about  his  refusing  the  royal  decora 
tion.  He  told  the  Emperor  that  the  honour  and 
pleasure  of  doing  such  work  as  his  was  its  own  re 
ward,  and  that  no  decoration  was  needed.  That 
story  made  a  great  hit  in  the  scientific  world." 

"  But  is  it  characteristic  ?  "  asked  Georgia,  slyly. 

"  Well,"  he  laughed,  "  it  ought  to  be." 

"  Another  one  of  the  independent  kind,"  said 
Parkman,  "  is  on  Bilroth.  He  was  summoned  to 
appear  at  a  certain  hour  before  the  Emperor  of 
Austria.  Bilroth  was  with  a  very  sick  patient  until 
the  eleventh  hour  and  arrived  a  little  late  in  business 


"TO   THE   GREAT   UNWHIMPERING ! "    103 

clothes.  The  scandalised  chamberlain  protested, 
telling  him  he  could  not  go  in  like  that.  Whereupon 
Bilroth  blustered  out :  '  I  have  no  time  to  spare. 
Tell  His  Majesty  if  he  wishes  to  see  me,  I  am  here. 
If  he  wants  my  dress  suit,  I  will  have  a  boy  bring  it 
around.' ' 

"Did  he  get  in?"  asked  Mrs.  McCormick,  anx 
iously. 

"  I  think  he  did,  although  undoubtedly  Miss  Mc 
Cormick  will  be  too  modern  to  say  so." 

"  There  was  a  story  I  always  liked  about  a  Vienna 
doctor,"  he  continued;  he  was  anxious  to  guide  the 
stories,  for  Karl  had  seemed  suddenly  to  sink  within 
himself.  He  understood  why — he  might  have  fore 
seen  where  this  would  lead.  For  there  were  other 
stories  of  medical  men,  stories  which  fitted  a  little 
too  closely  just  now;  he  was  especially  sorry  he  had 
mentioned  Bilroth.  "  This  shows  another  side  of  the 
doctor,"  he  went  on,  after  a  minute,  "  and  as  you  are 
going  to  give  good  as  well  as  bad,  this  may  help  out 
on  the  good  side — there's  where  you  will  be  short.  A 
woman  came  to  see  this  doctor  regarding  her  con 
sumptive  son.  He  told  her  there  was  nothing  he  could 
do  for  him,  adding :  '  If  you  want  him  to  live,  you 
must  take  him  to  Italy.'  The  woman  broke  down 
and  told  him  she  could  not  do  that,  that  she  had  no 
money.  The  doctor  sat  there  thinking  a  moment, 
and  then  sent  over  to  the  bank  and  got  her  a  letter 
of  credit  covering  the  amount  involved.  Another 
doctor,  who  happened  to  be  near,  asked  why  he  did 
that.  '  You  can't  possibly  support  all  your  needy 


104  THE  GLORY  OF.  THE  CONQUERED 

patients,'  he  said ;  '  why  did  you  choose  this  particu 
lar  case  ?  Of  course,'  he  added,  '  it  was  very  good 
of  you.*  *  No,'  said  the  doctor,  '  it  was  not  good  of 
me.  There  was  nothing  good  about  it.  But  I  was 
guilty  of  proposing  to  her  something  I  knew  she 
could  not  do.  After  opening  up  that  possibility  it 
was  my  obligation  to  see  that  she  could  fulfil  it.  I 
suggested  what  I  knew  to  be  the  impossible ;  after  I 
suggested  it,  it  was  my  business  to  make  it  possible.' 
Don't  you  think  that  a  pretty  good  sense  of  jus 
tice?  "  he  asked  of  Ernestine. 

"  What  might  be  called  an  inner  squareness,"  said 
Georgia,  as  Ernestine  responded  only  with  the  fine 
lights  the  story  had  brought  to  her  eyes. 

Karl  did  not  seem  to  have  heard  the  story.  Er 
nestine  looked  toward  him  anxiously. 

"  Now  I'm  going  to  tell  a  story,"  she  said,  with  a 
gaiety  thrown  out  for  rousing  him,  "  a  very  fine 
story; — every  one  must  listen."  He  looked  over  at 
her  and  smiled  at  that,  listening  for  her  story. 

"  This  man's  name  can't  be  printed,  because  he 
lives  in  Chicago  and  it  might  embarrass  him," — 
Karl  and  Dr.  Parkman  exchanged  glances  with  a 
smile.  "  This  is  a  characteristic  story,  as  it  shows 
a  doctor's  tyranny.  There  was  a  boy  taken  ill  at  a 
little  town  near  Chicago.  The  country  doctor  tele 
phoned  up  to  the  boy's  father,  and  the  father  tele 
phoned  the  family  physician  who,  from  the  meagre 
facts,  scented  appendicitis.  I  don't  know  how  he 
knew  it  was  bad,  but  I  believe  a  good  doctor  is  a 
pretty  good  guesser.  At  any  rate  he  suspected  this 


"TO   THE   GREAT   UNWHIMPERING!"    105 

was  serious,  and  told  the  father  they  would  have  to 
go  down  there  at  once.  The  father  said  there  was  no 
Sunday  train.  '  Then  get  a  special,'  said  the  doctor. 
'  We'll  probably  have  to  bring  him  up  to  the  hos 
pital  to  operate,  and  can't  do  it  in  the  automobile.' 
The  father  protested  against  the  special,  saying  it 
would  be  very  expensive  and  that  he  did  not  think  it 
necessary.  The  doctor  said  he  did  think  it  necessary 
or  he  would  not  have  suggested  it.  The  father  de 
murred  still  more  and  the  doctor  rang  off.  Then 
you  called  up  the  railroad  office,  yourself — wasn't 
that  it  ?  "  turning  to  Dr.  Parkman,  who  grew  red 
and  looked  genuinely  embarrassed.  "  Oh  dear," — in 
mock  dismay — "now  I've  mixed  it  up,  haven't  I? 
Well,  this  doctor — I'm  not  saying  anything  about 
who  he  is — called  up  the  railroad  office  and  calmly 
ordered  the  special.  I  must  not  forget  to  say  that 
the  man  who  did  not  want  to  spend  the  money  had 
an  abundance  of  money  to  spend.  Then  he  called  the 
boy's  father  and  said,  '  Be  at  the  station  in  twenty 
minutes.  The  special  will  be  waiting.  You  will 
have  nothing  to  do  but  sign  the  check.'  " 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  McCormick,  when  Ernestine 
stopped  as  though  through,  "  would  the  father  pay 
for  it,  and  did  the  boy  have  to  have  an  operation, 
and  did  he  get  well?" 

"  Mother  doesn't  like  this  new  way  of  telling  a 
story,"  said  Georgia;  "she  likes  to  hear  the  got- 
married-and-lived-happily-ever-after  part." 

"  I'm  sure  no  one  said  anything  about  getting 
married  in  this,"  said  Mrg.  McCormick,  serenely. 


106  THE  GLORY  OF,  THE  CONQUERED 

"  But  don't  you  think  that  a  fine  doctor  story?  " 
Ernestine  asked  smilingly  of  Dr.  Parkman. 

"  A  very  bad  story  to  tell.  Miss  McCormick's 
general  reader  will  say — : 6  Oh  yes,  of  course,  he  was 
just  bound  to  have  an  operation.'  " 

"  Georgia," — this  was  from  the  man  at  the  head 
of  the  table,  and  there  was  something  in  his  voice 
to  arrest  them  all — "  if  you  are  in  earnest  about 
wanting  stories  of  doctors,  why  don't  you  tell  some 
of  the  big  ones?  Some  of  the  stories  medical  men 
have  a  right  to  be  proud  of?  " 

"What  are  they?"  she  asked,  promptly.  "Tell 
me  some  of  them." 

Dr.  Parkman's  eyes  were  on  his  plate.  He  was 
handling  his  fork  a  little  nervously. 

"  If  I  were  going  to  tell  any  stories  about  medical 
men,"  Karl  went  on,  and  in  his  quiet  voice  there  was 
still  that  compelling  note,  "  it  seems  to  me  I  should 
want  to  say  something  about  the  doctors  who  died 
game — just  a  little  something  about  the  men  who 
took  their  medicine  and  said  nothing;  men  with  the 
nerve  to  face  even  their  own  understanding — cut  off, 
you  see,  from  the  refuge  of  fooling  themselves.  Ask 
Dr.  Parkman  about  the  surgeons  who  lost'  their 
hands  or  their  lives  through  infection.  Those  are 
the  stories  he  knows  that  are  worth  while.  He's 
only  giving  you  the  surface  of  it,  Georgia.  Tell 
him  you'd  like  a  little  of  the  real  thing.  Ask 
him  about  the  men  who  died  slow  deaths,  looking  a 
fatal  future  in  the  face  from  a  long  way  off.  He 
mentioned  Bilroth  just  now,  telling  a  funny  story 


"TO  THE  GREAT  UNWHIMPERING ! "    107 

about  him.  There's  a  better  story  than  that  to  tell 
about  Bilroth.  You  know  he  was  the  man  who  knew 
so  much  about  the  heart;  he  probably  understood 
the  heart  better  than  any  other  man.  And  by  one 
of  those  leering  tricks  of  fate,  he  had  heart  disease 
himself.  He  watched  his  own  case  and  made  notes 
on  it,  that  his  profession  might  profit  by  his  destruc 
tion.  There  you  have  something  worth  writing ' 
about!  In  his  last  letter  home,  he  said  he  had  ten 
days  to  live — and  he  missed  it  by  just  one;  he  lived 
eleven.  If  you're  going  to  tell  any  stories  about 
Bilroth,  tell  that  one,  Georgia.  And  then  a  story 
or  two  showing  that  while  many  men  take  chances, 
it's  the  doctor  who  takes  them  most  understandingly. 
Why  medical  science  is  full  of  an  almost  grotesque 
courage!  Don't  you  begin  to  see  how  the  doctor's 
been  trifling  with  you,  Georgia?  " 

He  paused,  but  no  one  felt  the  impulse  to  speak. 
His  eyes  were  hidden  by  the  dark  glasses  he  was 
wearing  because  of  that  cold,  or  whatever  it  was,  in 
his  eyes,  but  his  face  told  the  story  of  an  alert 
mind,  a  heart  responsive  to  the  things  of  which 
he  spoke.  Then  he  went  on  and  talked  a  little,  quietly 
enough,  but  with  a  passionateness,  a  high  note  of 
understanding,  of  the  men  who  had  had  the  nerve — 
eyes  open — to  face  the  things  fate  handed  them. 
It  was  as  if  he  were  looking  back  over  the  whole 
sweep  of  the  world  and  picking  from  many  times  and 
many  places  the  men  whose  souls  had  not  flinched 
to  the  death.  And  at  the  last  he  said,  smiling — the 
kind  of  smile  one  meets  with  a  tear — "  Let's  have  a 


108  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

little  toast."  He  raised  his  glass  of  claret  and  for 
a  minute  looked  at  it  in  silence.  And  then  he  said 
slowly,  his  very  quiet  voice  and  that  little  smile 
tempering  the  words : 

"  Here's  to  all  those  fellows  who  went  down  with 
out  the  banners  or  the  trumpets ! — To  the  boys  who 
took  the  starch  out  of  their  own  tragedies ! — To 
those  first  class  sports  who  made  no  fuss  about  their 
own  funerals !  Here's  to  the  Great  Unwhimpering !" 

Dr.  Parkman  choked  a  little  over  his  wine,  the 
tightening  in  Ernestine's  throat  made  it  hard  for 
her  with  hers,  Georgia's  cheeks  were  burning  with 
enthusiasm  for  the  story  she  saw  now  she  could  write, 
and  even  Mrs.  McCormick  had  no  questions  as  to 
just  what  men  had  died  that  way.  Then  it  was 
Karl  himself  who  abruptly  turned  the  conversation 
to  the  more  shallow  channels  of  dinner  talk. 

After  that  he  was  not  unlike  a  man  who  had  had  a 
little  too  much  champagne.  He  startled  them  with 
the  nimbleness  of  his  wit,  the  light  play  of  his  fancy. 
It  was  as  though  he  had  a  new  vocabulary,  a  lighter 
one  than  was  commonly  his.  There  was  a  sort  of  deli 
cate  frolicsomeness  in  his  thought. 

For  a  reason  unknown  to  her,  it  troubled  Ernes 
tine.  She  looked  from  Karl  to  Dr.  Parkman,  but  the 
doctor  had  that  impenetrable  look  of  his.  What  was 
the  matter  with  him?  He  had  talked  so  freely  during 
the  early  part  of  the  dinner,  and  now  he  seemed  to 
have  dropped  out  of  it  entirely.  She  caught  him 
looking  at  Karl  once ;  the  keen,  narrow  gaze  of  phy 
sician  to  patient.  Then  she  saw,  distinctly,  that  his 


"TO   THE   GREAT   UNWHIMPERING ! "    109 

face  darkened,  and  after  that,  when  he  smiled  at  the 
things  which  were  being  tossed  back  and  forth  be 
tween  Karl  and  Georgia,  it  was  what  she  called  to 
herself  a  "  made-up  smile  " ;  and  once  or  twice  when 
Karl  said  something  especially  funny,  she  was  quite 
sure  she  saw  Dr.  Parkman  wince. 

A  lump  rose  in  Ernestine's  throat ;  Karl  seemed  to 
have  slipped  away  from  her.  This  was  a  mood  to 
which  she  could  not  respond  and  it  seemed  he  did  not 
expect  her  to.  Almost  all  of  his  talk  was  directed  to 
Georgia,  who,  with  her  quick  wit  and  inherent  high 
spirits,  was  enjoying  the  pace  he  set  her.  It  seemed 
to  resolve  itself  into  a  duel  of  quick,  easy  play  of 
thought  and  words  between  those  two.  But  the 
things  they  said  did  not  make  Ernestine  laugh.  She 
smiled,  as  Dr.  Parkman  did,  a  "  made-up  "  smile. 

She  had  always  enjoyed  Karl's  humour  immensely, 
but  now,  though  she  had  never  seen  him  as  brilliant, 
something  about  him  pulled  at  her  heart.  She  could 
not  restrain  a  resentfulness  at  Georgia  for  encour 
aging  him.  For  she  could  not  get  away  from  the 
feeling  that  all  of  this  was  not  grounded  on  the 
thing  which  was  Karl  himself.  It  was  like  nothing 
in  the  world  so  much  as  the  breeziness  of  a  mind 
which  had  let  itself  go.  She  was  glad  when  at  last 
she  could  rise  from  the  table. 

In  the  library  it  was  as  though  he  were  holding 
on  to  Georgia,  determined  not  to  let  her  out  of  the 
mood  into  which  he  had  brought  her.  The  things 
of  which  he  talked  were  things  having  no  bearing 
whatever  upon  himself.  If  she  had  not  been  there, 


110    THE    GLORY    OF,    THE    CONQUERED 

had  simply  heard  of  the  things  said,  she  would  not 
have  recognised  Karl  at  all.  For  the  first  time  since 
they  had  known  one  another,  Ernestine  felt  left  out, 
— alone. 

Mrs.  McCormick  said  that  they  must  go,  but  Karl 
protested.  "  We're  having  such  a  good  time,"  he 
said,  "  don't  think  of  going." 

But  Georgia  had  an  engagement.  She  insisted  at 
last  that  they  must  go.  Dr.  Parkman  had  remained 
too,  although  Ernestine  was  satisfied  he  was  not 
enjoying  things. 

"  Why,  what  in  the  world  have  you  done  to  Karl?  " 
laughed  Georgia,  pinning  on  her  hat.  "  I  haven't 
had  such  good  fun  for  months.  I  had  no  idea  he 
was  such  a  gem  of  a  dinner  man." 

"  I  do  not  think  Karl  is  very  well,"  said  Ernestine, 
a  little  coolly. 

"  Well?  Why,  bless  you,  I  never  saw  him  in  such 
exuberant  mood." 

"  Didn't  they  make  the  words  fly?  "  laughed  Mrs. 
McCormick.  "  My  dear,  you  and  the  doctor  and  I 
were  quite  left  behind." 

"  It  seemed  that  way,"  said  Ernestine,  trying  to 
keep  her  chin  from  quivering. 

When  she  returned  to  the  library,  Dr.  Parkman 
and  Karl  were  evidently  just  closing  a  discussion  for 
Karl  was  saying,  heatedly :  "  Now  just  let  me  man 
age  things  in  my  own  way !  " 

The  doctor  seemed  reluctant  to  leave.  Ernestine 
was  alone  with  him  for  a  minute  in  the  hall,  and  she 
was  sure  he  started  to  say  something  once  and  then 


"TO  THE   GREAT   UNWHIMPERING ! "    111 

changed  it  to  something  else.  But  when  he  did 
leave,  it  was  with  merely  the  conventional  good 
bye. 

She  walked  slowly  back  to  the  library.  Karl  was 
sitting  in  the  Morris  chair,  his  elbow  upon  one  arm 
of  it,  his  hand  to  his  forehead.  His  whole  bearing 
had  changed;  it  was  as  though  he  had  let  down. 
Again  it  seemed  as  though  in  the  last  hour  he  had 
been  intoxicated,  and  this  the  depression  to  follow 
that  kind  of  exuberance.  But  he  looked  up  as  he 
heard  her,  and  smiled  a  little,  a  wan,  tired  smile. 
She  was  beside  him  in  an  instant. 

"You  seemed  so  happy  this  afternoon,  dear," 
she  said,  stroking  his  hair,  "  and  now  you  seem  so 
tired.  Aren't  you  well,  Karl?"  she  asked,  a  little 
timidly. 

His  face  then  mirrored  a  dissatisfaction,  a  sort  of 
resentment. 

"  I  talked  like  a  fool  this  afternoon ! "  he  said 
gruffly. 

"  Why,  no,  dear,  only — not  quite  like  yourself." 

"  Well,  the  fact  of  the  matter  is  "—this  after  a 
minute's  thought — "  I  have  a  frightful  headache. 
I  suppose  it  comes  from  this  trouble  with  my  eyes. 
I  thought  I  wasn't  going  to  be  able  to  keep  up,  and 
in  my  efforts  to  do  it,  I "  —he  paused  and  then 
laughed  rather  harshly — "  overdid  it." 

He  seemed  anxious  for  her  reply  to  that. 

"  I  knew  it  was  something  like  that,"  she  said  sim 
ply.  Then,  after  a  minute:  "Is  there  anything  I 
can  do  for  the  head?" 


THE    GLORY    OF.    THE    CONQUERED 

He  told  her  no,  but  that  he  believed  he  would 
turn  the  chair  around  with  his  back  to  the  light. 

"And  I  won't  talk,  dear,"  he  said  gently;  "I'll 
just  rest  a  little." 

She  helped  him  with  the  chair  and  for  a  minute 
sat  there  on  a  low  seat  beside  him. 

"  You  know,  sweetheart,"  resting  her  cheek  upon 
his  hand,  "  I  don't  like  those  dark  glasses  at  all. 
I'll  be  so  glad  when  you  don't  have  to  wear  them." 

"Why?"  he  asked,  his  voice  a  little  muffled. 

"  Because  they  shut  me  out.  I  always  seem  closer 
to  you  when  I  can  look  into  your  eyes. — Oh — does  it 
pain  so?  "  as  he  drew  sharply  away. 

"  That  did  hurt,"  he  admitted,  his  voice  low. 
"  I— I'd  better  not  talk  for  a  little,  dear." 

So  she  said  if  there  was  nothing  she  could  do  for 
his  head,  she  would  leave  him  while  she  wrote  a  couple 
of  letters. 

For  a  long  time  he  sat  there  without  moving.  It 
was  the  exhaustion  which  follows  intoxication,  for 
he  had  indeed  intoxicated  himself  that  afternoon, 
and  with  an  idea.  It  had  come  about  so  strangely. 
After  they  sat  down  to  dinner,  he  had  been  on  the 
point  a  half  a  dozen  times,  of  excusing  himself  on 
the  plea  of  a  bad  headache.  Then  when  they  began 
to  talk  about  doctors,  those  other  things  had  come 
to  him,  and  it  was  as  though  the  spirit  of  all  those 
men  who  had  gone  down  that  way  entered  into  him, 
came  so  close,  possessed  him  so  completely,  that  he 
could  not  hold  back  those  words  about  them.  A  spirit 
quite  beyond  his  control  had  moved  him  to  that  little 


"TO   THE  GREAT   UNWHIMPERING ! "    113 

toast.  After  that,  something — perhaps  a  spark 
from  the  nerve  of  those  men  of  whom  he  had  spoken 
— brought  his  mind  firmly  into  possession  of  the 
feeling  that  everything  was  all  right.  It  was  not 
that  he  argued  himself  out  of  his  fears,  but  rather 
that  something  brought  the  assurance  of  its  being 
all  right,  and  after  that  there  came  a  number  of 
arguments  sustaining  the  conviction.  Just  before 
dinner  he  had  gone  over  to  the  laboratory  and  looked 
at  the  culture.  It  had  not  shown  anything  at  all. 
At  the  time  he  accepted  that  as  a  matter  of  course — 
it  was  not  time  for  it  to  show  anything.  But  look 
ing  back  on  it  after  this  conviction  came  to  him,  he 
took  the  very  fact  of  its  not  showing  anything  as 
proof  that  there  was  nothing  there  to  show.  His 
mind  only  grasped  one  side  of  it — that  it  showed 
nothing  at  all.  Brightening  under  that  he  began 
to  talk  lightly,  to  joke  with  Georgia,  and  talking 
that  way  seemed  to  enable  him  to  keep  hold  of  the 
conviction  that  everything  was  all  right.  The  more 
he  talked,  the  more  sure  he  was  of  it,  the  gayer  he 
felt,  the  more  disposed  to  let  his  mind  run  wild.  He 
was  a  little  afraid  if  he  stopped  talking,  this  beauti 
ful  conviction  of  its  being  all  right  would  leave  him. 
So  he  made  Georgia  keep  at  it,  Georgia  was  the  one 
could  play  that  sort  of  game. 

As  he  talked,  new  arguments  came  to  him.  The 
oculist !  At  first  he  had  thought  it  a  bad  thing  that 
the  oculist  could  not  tell  what  was  the  matter.  Now 
he  seized  upon  that  as  proving  there  was  nothing  the 
matter  at  all.  And  Dr.  Parkman  had  said,  at  the 


THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

last,  that  it  did  not  amount  to  anything.  At  the 
time  that  had  been  a  mere  conventional  phrase,  but 
now,  in  his  exhilaration,  he  seized  upon  it  as  indis 
putable  truth.  But  always  there  was  the  feeling  that 
he  must  keep  on  feeling  this  way,  or  the  conviction, 
and  all  that  it  meant,  would  go.  That  was  why  he 
clung  to  Georgia.  Finally  he  reached  the  point  where 
he  could  distinctly  remember  getting  the  other  stuff 
— the  stuff  which  did  not  make  any  difference — on  his 
hands.  He  could  fairly  see  it  on  his  hands,  could 
remember  distinctly  getting  it  in  his  eye.  And  then 
Georgia  had  said  something  about  going,  and  he 
had  begged  her  not  to  go.  But  she  insisted,  and  he 
began  to  feel  then  that  the  exhilaration  was  wearing 
off,  that  he  was  coming  back  to  face  things;  to  the 
doubt,  the  uncertainty,  the  suffering.  And  now 
that  he  had  come  back  to  things  as  they  were,  he  felt 
inexpressibly  tired. 

He  went  over  it  again  and  again,  trying  to  gain 
something  now,  not  from  any  form  of  excitement,  but 
from  things  as  they  were.  Suddenly  his  face  bright 
ened.  He  sat  there  in  deep  thought,  and  then  at  last 
he  smiled  a  little.  Whatever  happened  must  have 
occurred  Friday  afternoon.  But  he  had  never  in  all 
his  life  felt  as  happy  about  his  work  as  he  did  before 
he  left  the  laboratory  Friday  afternoon.  Could  a 
man  feel  like  that,  would  it  be  in  the  heart  of  things 
to  let  a  man  feel  that  way,  if  he  had  already  en 
tered  upon  the  road  of  his  destruction?  It  had 
been  more  than  a  happiness  of  the  mind;  it  was  a 
happiness  of  the  soul,  and  would  not  a  man's  soul 


"TO   THE   GREAT   UNWHIMPERING ! "    115 

send  out  some  note  of  warning?  And  then  that 
same  evening  when  he  and  Ernestine  sat  before  the 
fire!  If  already  this  grim  fate  had  entered  into 
their  lives,  would  not  their  love,  would  not  her  love, 
all  intuition,  deep-seeing,  feeling  that  which  it  could 
not  understand,  have  felt  in  that  moment  of  supreme 
happiness,  some  token  of  what  was  ahead?  It  could 
not  be  that  the  world  jeered  at  men  like  that.  Their 
love  would  have  told  them  something  was  wrong. 

Ernestine  came  in  just  then  and  he  called  her  to 
him. 

"  Liebchen,"  he  said,  "  I've  been  thinking  about 
that  evening  of  your  birthday,  about  how  beautiful 
it  was.  Weren't  you  happy,  dear,  as  we  sat  there 
before  the  fire?  " 

"  So  happy,  Karl,"  she  murmured,  warmly  glad 
to  have  her  own  Karl  again.  "  Everything  seemed 
so  beautiful ;  everything  seemed  so  perfectly  right." 

He  drew  her  to  him  with  a  passion  she  did  not  un 
derstand.  His  Ernestine !  His  wife !  She  who  com 
muned  with  love,  whose  harmony  with  the  great  soul 
of  things  was  perfect — they  could  not  have  deceived 
her  like  that!  Ernestine  and  love  dwelt  too  closely 
together.  She  would  have  received  some  sign. 

For  a  time  that  calmed  and  sustained  him;  he  be 
lieved  in  it;  it  was  his  weapon  to  use  against  the 
doubts  and  terrors  which  preyed  upon  him.  But  the 
gloom  of  his  soul  seemed  to  thicken  with  the  deepen 
ing  of  the  night.  His  heart  grew  cold  with  the 
coining  of  the  shadows.  The  passing  of  day  in 
spired  in  him  fears  not  to  be  reasoned  away. 


116  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

He  grew  very  nervous  during  the  evening  and 
finally  said  he  must  go  over  to  the  laboratory  and 
arrange  some  things  for  morning.  Ernestine  pro 
tested  against  it — and  if  he  must  go  would  he  not 
let  her  go  with  him?  But  he  told  her  he  believed  it 
would  be  better  for  his  head  if  he  walked  alone  for 
just  a  little  while.  He  did  not  have  a  headache  more 
than  once  in  five  years,  he  assured  her,  laughing  a 
little,  and  when  he  did,  it  was  apt  to  upset  Mm. 

When  he  came  back  at  last — it  seemed  to  her  a 
very  long  time — she  saw,  watching  from  the  window, 
that  he  was  walking  very  slowly,  almost  as  if  ex 
hausted.  She  could  not  hold  back  her  alarm  at  his 
white,  worn  face.  Something  in  it  gripped  at  her 
heart. 

"  Is  it  worse,  dear?  "  she  asked  anxiously. 

"  It's  a  little  bad — just  now.  I'll  go  to  bed.  It 
will  be  better  then."  He  spoke  slowly,  as  though 
very  tired. 

"  Won't  you  take  something  for  it,  Karl  ?  "  she 
persisted.  "  Won't  you?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  of  anything  to  take  that  would 
do  any  good,  Ernestine," — and  he  could  not  quite 
keep  the  quiver  out  of  those  words. 

"  But  other  people  take  things.  There  are  things. 
Let  me  go  out  and  get  you  something." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  Doctors  don't  take  much  stock  in  medicine,"  he 
said,  with  a  touch  of  his  usual  humour. 

She  wanted   to  stay  with  him  until  he  went  to 


"TO   THE  GREAT   UNWHIMPERING ! "    117 

sleep.  She  wanted  to  put  cold  cloths  on  his  head. 
It  was  hard  to  avoid  Ernestine's  tenderness. 

"  It  did  not  show  anything,"  he  assured  himself, 
pleadingly,  when  alone.  "  It  only  showed  that  it 
was  going  to  show  in  the  morning.  I  knew  that.  I 
knew  all  the  time  I  was  going  to  know  in  the  morn 
ing.  I'll  not  go  to  pieces.  I'll  not  be  a  fool  about 
it,"  he  kept  repeating. 

But  a  little  later  Ernestine  was  sure  she  heard 
him  groan.  She  could  not  keep  away  from  that. 

"  Oh,  sweetheart,"  she  murmured,  kneeling  by  his 
bed,  "  I  can't  bear  it  not  to  help  you.  Let  me  do 
just  some  little  thing,"  she  pleaded. 

He  put  his  hand  over  in  hers.  "  Hold  it,  dear ; 
if  you  aren't  too  tired.  I  don't  want  to  talk, — 
but  hold  on  to  my  hand." 

His  grip  grew  very  tight  after  a  minute.  She 
was  sure  his  head  must  be  paining  terribly.  If 
only  he  would  take  something  for  it ! 

In  a  little  while  he  grew  very  quiet.  Soon  she 
was  sure  that  he  was  asleep.  But  after  she  had  at 
last  stolen  away  he  turned  and  buried  his  face  in 
his  arms. 


CHAPTER    XV 

THE   VERDICT 

IT  was  Monday  morning  now.  The  hours  of 
that  night  had  been  hours  of  torture.  Sleep 
had  come  once  or  twice,  but  sleep  meant  only 
the  surrender  of  his  mind  to  the  horrors  which 
preyed  upon  it.  He  could,  in  some  measure,  exert 
a  mastery  when  awake,  but  no  man  is  master  of  his 
dreams.  His  dreams  put  before  him  all  those  things 
his  thoughts  fought  away.  In  his  dreams,  there  was 
a  fearful  thing  pursuing  him,  reaching  out  for  him, 
gaining  upon  him  with  each  step.  Or  sometimes,  it 
stalked  beside  him,  not  retreating,  not  advancing, 
but  waiting,  standing  there  beside  him  with  grim, 
inexorable  smile.  It  was  after  waking  from  such 
dreams  that  he  breathed  his  prayer  that  this  night 
pass.  No  matter  what  be  ahead,  he  asked  that  this 
night  pass  away. 

After  he  was  up  he  found  himself  able  to  go  on 
in  much  the  usual  way.  When  Ernestine  came  in 
and  asked  about  his  head,  he  told  her  it  was  better; 
when  she  wanted  to  know  about  his  eyes,  he  said 
they  were  not  any  better  yet,  but  that  that  was 
something  which  would  simply  have  to  run  its  course. 
She  begged  him  not  to  go  over  to  the  university, 
but  he  told  her  it  was  especially  important  to  go  this 

118 


THE    VERDICT  119 

morning.  He  added  that  he  might  not  be  there  very 
long. 

He  ate  his  usual  breakfast.  A  truth  that  would 
shake  the  foundations  of  his  life  might  be  waiting 
for  him  just  ahead,  and  yet  he  could  make  his  usual 
laughing  plea  for  a  second  cup  of  coffee.  Undoubt 
edly  it  was  so  with  many  men;  beneath  a  mail  of 
conventions  and  pleasantries  they  lived  through  their 
fears  and  sorrows  alone. 

Something  clutched  at  his  heart  as  he  kissed  Er 
nestine  good-bye  and  there  was  a  momentary  tempta 
tion.  Could  he  face  it  alone,  if  he  had  to  face  it? 
To  have  her  with  him !  But  he  put  that  aside ;  not 
alone  for  her  sake,  but  because  he  felt  that  after  all 
there  were  things  through  which  one  must  pass  alone. 
But  after  he  had  reached  the  door,  he  came  back  and 
kissed  her  again.  What  if  he  were  to  go  down  into 
a  place  too  deep  for  his  voice  to  reach  her? 

There  was  some  solace,  assurance,  in  the  natural 
ness  of  things  about  him.  Everything  else  was  just 
the  same ;  it  did  not  seem  that  it  could  be  part  of  nat 
ural  law  then  for  his  own  life  to  be  entirely  over 
turned. 

And  the  world  was  so  beautiful !  It  was  a  buoyant 
spring  morning.  There  was  assurance  in  the  song 
of  the  birds,  in  the  perfume  of  flowers  and  trees. 
The  air  upon  his  face  was  soft  and  reassuring.  This 
seemed  far  away  from  the  hideous  phantoms  of  the 
night.  Why  the  world  did  not  feel  like  tragedy 
this  morning! 

He  had  a  lecture  at  eight  o'clock,  and  he  made  up 


120  THE  GLORY  OF,  THE  CONQUERED 

his  mind  he  would  give  it.  In  the  night  he  had 
thought  of  going  first  of  all  to  the  laboratory. 
The  truth  would  be  waiting  for  him  there.  But  it 
was  his  business  to  give  the  lecture  and  he  could 
not  be  sure  of  giving  it  if  he  went  to  the  laboratory 
first.  A  man  had  no  right  to  let  his  own  affairs  in 
terfere  with  his  work.  Oh  yes — by  all  means,  he 
would  give  the  lecture.  In  spite  of  his  prayer  that 
the  uncertainty  should  end,  he  reached  out  for  an 
other  hour  of  holding  it  off. 

He  knew  as  the  hour  advanced  that  he  had  never 
done  better  work  in  the  lecture  room.  He  pinned  his 
mind  to  it  with  a  rigidity  which  prompted  him  to 
put  the  subject  as  though  it  were  the  most  vital  thing 
in  all  the  world.  He  threw  the  whole  force  of  his 
will  to  filling  his  mind  with  the  things  of  which 
he  spoke  that  he  might  not  yield  so  much  as  an  inch 
to  the  things  which  waited  just  outside. 

He  talked  until  the  last  minute;  in  fact,  he  went 
so  much  over  his  time  that  another  class  was  waiting 
at  the  door.  He  clung  to  those  last  moments  with 
the  desperation  of  the  drowning  man  to  the  splint 
ered  piece  of  board.  After  it  was  over,  just  as  he 
was  yielding  the  desk  to  the  man  who  followed  him, 
one  of  his  students  approached  him  with  a  question 
and  the  thankfulness,  the  appeal,  almost,  in  the  smile 
with  which  he  received  him,  mystified  the  student 
until  he  stammered  out  his  question  bewilderedly. 

He  could  wait  no  longer  now.  That  room  belonged 
to  others.  The  next  period  was  his  usual  hour  in. 


THE    VERDICT  121 

the  laboratory.  It  was  an  hour  which  on  Monday 
morning  he  could,  if  he  wished,  spend  alone. 

His  temples  were  beating, — thundering.  His 
hands  were  so  cold  that  they  seemed  things  apart 
from  him.  But  his  mouth — how  parched  it  was! — 
was  set  very  hard,  and  his  step,  though  slow,  was 
firm. 

In  the  outer  laboratory  Professor  Hastings 
stopped  him,  remonstrating  against  his  working  when 
he  was  having  trouble  with  his  eyes.  He  assured 
him,  elaborately,  that  he  was  taking  care  of  them, 
that  probably  he  would  not  be  in  there  long. 

He  opened  the  door  of  his  laboratory  and  passed 
in.  He  closed  it  behind  him,  and  stood  there  leaning 
against  it.  He  was  all  alone  now.  There  was  noth 
ing  in  the  room  but  himself  and  the  truth  which  was 
waiting  for  him. 

He  put  his  book  down  upon  the  table.  He  walked 
over  and  sat  down  before  the  culture  oven.  He  must 
get  this  over  with !  He  was  getting  sick.  He  could 
not  stand  much  more. 

With  firm,  quick  hand  he  wrenched  open  the  doors. 
He  put  his  hand  upon  what  ne  knew  to  be  the 
tube.  He  pulled  it  out,  turned  around  to  the  light 
and  held  it  up  between  him  and  the  window.  For 
one  moment  he  looked  away; — how  parched  his 
mouth  was !  And  then,  a  mighty  will  turning  his  eyes 
upon  it,  in  one  long  gaze  he  read  the  plain,  unmistak 
able,  unalterable  truth.  He  had  never  seen  a  better 
culture.  Science  would  perhaps  commit  itself  no 


THE    GLORY    OF.    THE    CONQUERED 

further  than  to  say  his  eyes  had  become  inoculated 
with  the  most  virulent  germ  known  to  pathology. 
But  out  beyond  the  efforts  which  would  be  made  to 
save  him,  he  read — written  large — the  truth. 
He  was  going  blind. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

"GOOD   LUCK,   SEASON!" 

MINUTES  passed  and  nothing  happened. 
There  was  no  sound  of  splintering  glass. 
The  tube  did  not  fall  from  his  hands. 
Not  so  much  as  gasp  or  groan  broke 
the  stillness  of  the  laboratory.  He  did  not  seem 
to  have  moved  even  the  muscle  of  a  finger. 

He  faced  it.  He  understood  it.  He  faced  it  and 
understood  it  as  he  had  no  other  truth  in  all  his  life. 
No  merciful,  mitigating  force  caused  his  mind  to 
totter.  With  fairly  cosmic  regularity,  cosmic  in 
evitability,  comprehension  struck  blow  after  blow. 

He  was  going  blind.  He  had  spent  his  life  study 
ing  the  action  of  such  forces  as  this.  He  knew  them! 
A  man  who  knew  less  would  have  hoped  more.  Some 
idle  dreamer  might  attempt  to  push  one  star  closer 
to  another.  An  astronomer  would  not  do  that. 

He  was  going  blind.  He  could  no  more  do  his 
work  without  his  eyes  than  the  daylight  could 
come  without  the  sun.  Fate  jeered  at  him:  "Your 
eyes  are  gone,  but  your  life  will  remain."  It  was 
like  saying  to  the  sun :  "  You  are  not  to  give  any  more 
light,  but  you  are  to  go  on  shining  just  the  same." 

He  was  going  blind.  The  world  which  had  just 
opened  to  him — the  world  of  sunsets  and  forests  and 
mountains  and  seas  gulped  to  black  nothingness! 

123 


124  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

Blind !  Swept  under  by  a  trick  he  would  not  have 
believed  possible  from  his  most  careless  student ! 
Mastered  by  the  things  he  had  believed  he  controlled ! 
Meeting  his  life's  destruction  from  the  things  which 
were  to  bring  his  life's  triumph!  In  that  moment 
of  understanding's  throwing  wide  her  gates  to  tor 
ture,  fate  stood  out  as  the  master  dramatist.  Mak 
ing  him  do  it  himself!  Working  it  out  of  a  mere 
fool's  trick! 

Blind? — Blind?  But  his  eyes  fitted  his  brain  so 
perfectly  it  was  through  them  all  knowledge  came  to 
him.  They  were  the  world's  great  channel  to  his 
mind.  It  was  through  his  eyes  he  knew  his  fellow 
beings.  The  lifting  of  an  eyebrow,  a  queer  twist 
to  a  smile — those  things  always  told  him  more  than 
words.  And — but  here  he  staggered.  The  mind 
could  get  this,  as  it  had  all  else,  but  on  this  the  heart 
broke.  Ernestine! — that  smile — the  love  lights  in 
her  eyes — the  glints  of  her  dear,  dear  hair — The  tube 
fell  from  his  hand.  His  head  sank  to  the  table.  He 
was  buried  now  under  an  agony  beyond  all  power 
to  lift. 

Whether  it  was  minutes  or  hours  which  passed 
then,  he  never  knew  in  the  days  which  followed. 
Time  is  not  measured  by  common  reckoning  on  the 
hill  of  Calvary. 

The  thing  which  brought  him  from  under  the 
blow  at  last  was  a  blinding  rage.  He  wanted  to  take 
a  revolver  and  blow  his  brains  out,  then  and  there. 
He — a  man  supposed  to  have  a  mind !  He — counted 
a  master  of  those  very  things!  And  now,  what? 
Manhood,  power,  himself  gone.  Stumbling  through 


"GOOD    LUCK,    BEASON!"  125 

his  days !  Useless ! — a  curse  to  himself  and  every 
one  else.  Groping  about  in  the  dark — a  thing  to  be 
pitied  and  treated  well  for  pity's  sake!  Cared  for 
— looked  after — helped!  That  beat  down  the  bounds 
of  control.  He  did  things  then  which  he  never  re 
membered  and  would  not  have  believed. 

It  all  rushed  upon  him — the  birthday  night — the 
crafty,  insidious  mockery  through  every  bit  of  it, 
until  everything  to  which  he  had  held  tottered  about 
him,  and  goaded  beyond  all  power  to  bear  there  came 
a  slow,  comprehending,  soul-deep  curse  on  the  world 
and  all  that  the  world  had  done.  And  then,  out  of 
the  darkness,  through  the  blackened,  dizzying,  tot 
tering  mass — a  voice,  a  face,  a  smile,  a  touch,  a 
kiss,  and  the  curses  gave  way  to  a  sob  and  things 
steadied  a  little.  No,  not  the  world  and  everything 
it  had  done,  for  it  was  a  world  which  held  Ernes 
tine,  a  world  which  had  given  Ernestine  to  him  for 
his. 

He  fought  for  it  then :  for  his  faith  in  the  world, 
his  belief  in  the  things  of  love.  It  was  the  fight  of 
his  life,  the  fight  for  his  own  soul.  Come  what  might 
in  the  future,  it  was  this  hour  which  held  the  decisive 
battle.  For  if  he  could  not  master  those  things 
which  were  surging  upon  him,  then  the  things  which 
made  him  himself  were  gone  for  all  time.  And  when 
sense  of  the  underlying  cunning  of  the  blow  brought 
the  surrendering  laugh  close  to  his  parched  lips  it 
was  held  back,  held  under,  by  that  ever  recurring 
memory  of  a  touch,  a  voice,  a  face.  It  was  Ernes 
tine,  their  love,  fighting  against  the  powers  of  dam 
nation  for  the  rescue  of  his  soul. 


126  THE  GLORY  OF.  THE  CONQUERED 

Even  in  the  battle's  heat,  he  had  full  grasp  of 
the  battle's  significance,  knew  that  all  the  future  hung 
upon  making  it  right  this  hour  with  his  own  soul. 
His  face  grew  grey  and  old,  he  concentrated  days 
of  force  into  minutes,  but  little  by  little,  through  a 
strength  greater  than  that  strength  with  which  men 
conquer  worlds,  a  force  greater  than  the  force  with 
which  the  mind's  big  battles  are  won,  by  a  force  not 
given  many  since  the  first  of  time,  he  held  away,  beat 
back,  the  black  tides  ready  to  carry  him  over  into 
that  sea  of  bitterness  from  which  lost  souls  send  out 
their  curses  and  their  jeers  and  their  unmeetable 
silences. 

He  tried  to  see  a  way.  He  tried  to  reach  out  to 
something  which  should  help  him.  Standing  there 
amid  the  wreck  of  his  life,  he  tried  to  think,  even 
while  the  ruins  were  still  falling  about  him,  of  some 
plan  of  reconstruction.  It  was  like  rebuilding  a  great 
city  destroyed  by  fire ;  the  brave  heart  begins  before 
the  smoke  has  cleared  away.  But  that  task  is  a 
simple  one.  The  city  destroyed  by  fire  may  be  re- 
builded  as  before.  But  with  him  the  master  builder 
was  gone.  Out  of  those  poor,  scarred,  ungeneraled 
forces  which  remained,  could  he  hope  to  bring 
anything  to  which  the  world  would  care  to  give 
place  ? 

He  could  see  no  way  yet.  All  was  chaos.  And 
just  then  there  came  a  knock  at  the  door. 

He  paid  no  heed  at  first.  What  right  had  the 
world  to  come  knocking  at  his  door?  What  could 
he  do  for  any  one  now  ? 


"GOOD    LUCK,    BEASON!"  127 

The  knock  was  repeated.  But  he  would  not  go.  If 
it  were  some  student,  what  could  he  do  for  him? 
He  could  only  say :  "  I  can  do  nothing  for  you.  Go 
to  some  one  else."  And  should  it  be  one  of  his  fellow 
professors,  come  to  -counsel  with  him,  he  could  only 
say  to  him :  "  I  have  dropped  out.  Go  on  without  me. 
I  wish  you  good  luck." 

That  message  he  had  thought  to  give ! — and  now — 

Again  the  knock,  timidly  this  time,  fearing  a  too 
great  persistency,  but  reluctant  to  go  away.  He 
would  go  in  just  a  minute  now.  There  would  not 
come  another  knock.  Well,  let  him  go.  When  all 
the  powers  of  fate  had  gathered  round  to  mock  and 
jeer  was  it  too  much  to  ask  that  there  be  no  other 
spectators?  Was  not  a  man  entitled  to  one  hour 
alone  among  the  ruins  of  his  life? 

He  who  would  gain  entrance  was  starting,  very 
slowly,  to  walk  away.  He  listened  to  him  take  a 
few  steps,  and  then  suddenly  rose  and  hurried  to  the 
door.  He  was  not  used  to  turning  away  his  students 
unanswered. 

It  was  Beason  who  turned  eagerly  around  at  sound 
of  the  opening  door.  Beason — of  all  people — that 
boy  who  never  in  the  world  would  understand ! 

He  was  accustomed  to  reading  faces  quickly  and 
even  through  his  dark  glasses  his  worried  eyes  read 
that  Beason  was  in  trouble,  moved  by  something  from 
the  path  in  which  he  was  wont  to  go. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  interrupt  you,"  stammered  the  boy, 
as  he  motioned  him  to  a  chair. 

"Oh — that's  all  right;  I  wasn't  doing  anything, 


128  THE  GLORY  OF.  THE  CONQUERED 

very  important.  Just — finishing  up  something,"  he 
added,  glad,  when  he  heard  his  own  voice,  that  it 
was  only  Beason. 

"  I'm  in  trouble,"  blurted  out  Beason,  "  and  I — I 
wanted  to  see  you." 

The  man  was  sitting  close  to  a  table,  and  he  rested 
his  elbow  upon  it,  and  shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hand. 

"  Trouble  ?  "  his  voice  was  kind,  though  a  little  un 
steady.  "  Why,  what's  the  trouble  ?  " 

"  I've  got  to  stop  school !  I've  got  to  give  up  my 
work  for  a  whole  year ! " 

The  hand  still  shaded  his  darkened  eyes.  His 
mouth  was  twitching  a  little. 

"A  year,  Beason?"  he  said — any  one  else  would 
have  been  struck  with  the  note  in  it — "  You  say — a 
year?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Beason,  "  a  whole  year.  My  father 
has  had  some  hard  luck  and  can't  keep  me  here.  I'd 
try  to  get  work  in  Chicago,  and  stay  on,  but  I  not 
only  have  to  make  my  own  way,  but  I  must  help  my 
mother  and  sister.  Next  year  another  deal  my 
father's  in  will  probably  straighten  things  out,  and 
then  I  suppose  I  can  come  back." 

The  man  very  slowly  nodded  his  head.  "  I  see," 
he  said,  his  voice  coming  from  'way  off  somewhere, 
"  I  see." 

"  It's  tough !  "  exclaimed  Beason  bitterly — "  pret 
ty  tough ! " 

Dr.  Hubers  had  turned  his  chair  away  from  Bea 
son,  and  with  closed  eyes  was  facing  the  light  from 
without.  There  was  a  long  pause.  Beason  waited 


"GOOD    LUCK,    BEASON!"  129 

patiently,  supposing  the  man  to  be  thinking  what 
to  say  about  so  great  a  difficulty. 

"  As  I  understand  it,"  he  said,  turning  around 
at  last,  "  it's  like  this.  You  are  to  give  up  your  work 
at  the  university  for  a  year — just  one  short  little 
year — and  do  something  else ;  something  not  so  much 
in  your  line,  perhaps,  but  something  which  will  be 
helping  those  you  care  for — making  it  easier  for 
some  one  else.  It's  to  be  your  privilege,  as  I  under 
stand  it,  to  fill  a  man's  place.  That's  about  it,  isn't 
it?" 

"  But  that's  not  the  point !  I  thought," — in  an 
injured,  almost  tearful  voice — "  that  you  would 
understand." 

"  Oh,  I  do.  I  see  the  other  point.  You  hate  to 
stop  work  for," — he  cleared  his  throat — "  for  a 
year." 

"  A  year,"  said  Beason  dismally,  "  is  such  a  long 
time  to  lose." 

The  man  had  nothing  to  say  to  that.  His  head 
sank  a  little.  He  seemed  to  be  thinking. 

Finally  he  came  out  of  his  reverie;  seemed  to 
come  from  a  long  way  off.  "  And  where  are  you 
going,  my  boy?  "  he  asked  kindly.  "What  are  you 
going  to  do  ?  " 

"  I'm  going  clear  out  West,"  said  Beason  gloom 
ily.  "  Father  has  something  for  me  with  a  company 
in  the  Northwest." 

"  Out  there !  " — an  eager  voice  rang  out,  a  voice 
which  rested  on  a  smothered  sob.  "  Great  heavens, 
man,  you're  going  out  there?  Out  there  to  the 


130  THE  GLORY  OF.  THE  CONQUERED  ' 

mountains  and  the  forests?  Out  there  where  you  can 
see  the  sun  come  up  and  go  down,  can  see — can  see — " 
but  his  voice  trailed  off  to  a  strange  silence. 

"  I  never  cared  much  for  scenery,"  said  Beason 
bluntly,  "  and  I  care  a  lot  for — all  this  I'm  leaving." 

"  We  don't  really  leave  a  thing,"  said  the  man — 
his  voice  was  low  and  tired — "  when  we're  coming 
back  to  it.  The  only  real  leave-takings  are  the  final 
ones." 

Beason  shifted  in  his  chair.  Some  of  these  things 
were  not  just  what  he  had  expected. 

"  Beason," — something  in  his  voice  now  made  the 
boy  move  a  little  nearer — "  I'm  sorry  for  your  dis 
appointment,  but  I  wish  I  could  make  you  see  how 
much  you  have  to  live  for.  Get  in  the  habit  of 
looking  at  the  sunsets,  Beason.  Take  a  good  many 
long  looks  at  the  mountains  and  the  rivers.  It's 
not  unscientific.  You  know," — with  a  little  whimsi 
cal  toss  of  his  head — "  we  only  have  so  many  looks 
to  take  in  this  world,  and  when  we're  about  through 
we'd  hate  to  think  they'd  all  been  into  microscopes 
and  culture  ovens.  And  don't  worry  too  much,  Beason, 
about  things  running  into  your  plans  and  knock 
ing  them  over.  You  know  what  that  wise  old  Omar 
had  to  say  about  it  all."  He  paused,  and  then 
quoted,  very  slowly,  each  word  seeming  to  stand 
for  many  things: 

And  fear  not  lest  Existence  closing  your 
Account,  and  mine,  shall  know  the  like  no  more; 
The  Eternal  Saki  from  that  Bowl  has  pour'd 
Millions  of  Bubbles  like  us,  and  will  pour. 


"GOOD    LUCK,    BEASON!"  131 

"  And — will — pour," — he  repeated  the  three 
words.  And  then  his  head  drooped,  his  hands  fell 
laxly  at  his  sides.  It  seemed  it  was  not  of  Beason 
he  had  been  thinking  as  he  looked  Fate  in  the  face 
with  that  taunt  of  the  old  Persian  poet. 

But  he  looked  at  him  after  a  moment,  came  back 
to  him.  He  saw  that  the  boy  was  disappointed. 
The  gloom  with  which  he  had  come  had  not  lifted 
from  his  face.  That  would  not  do.  He  was  not 
going  to  fail  his  student  like  that. 

"Why,  look  here,  Beason,"  he  said  in  a  new  tone, 
all  enthusiasm  now,  "  maybe  you'll  shoot  a  bear.  I 
have  a  presentiment,  Beason,  that  you  will,  and  when 
you're  eighty-five  and  have  ;your  great  grandchild 
on  your  knee,  you'll  think  a  great  deal  more  about 
that  bear  than  you  will  about  the  year  you  missed 
here  at  school.  Now  brace  up !  Hard  knocks  wake 
a  fellow  up.  You'll  come  back  here  and  do  better 
work  for  your  year  of  roughing  it — take  my  word 
for  it,  you  will." 

Beason  had  brightened.  "  And  you  think," — he 
grew  a  little  red — "  that  when  I  come  back  I  can 
have  my  old  place  here  with  you?  " 

The  man  drew  in  his  breath,  drew  it  in  rather  hard ; 
something  had  taken  the  enthusiasm  away. 

"  I'll  do  my  little  part,  Beason,"  he  said,  exceed 
ingly  quietly,  "  to  see  that  you  are  not  overlooked 
when  you  come  back." 

The  boy  rose  to  go.  "  I  do  feel  better,"  he  said 
clumsily,  but  with  heartiness. 

He  looked  around  the  room.     "  I  hate  to  leave  it. 


132    THE    GLORY    OE    THE    CONQUERED 

I've  had  some  good  times  here,  and  I'm — fond  of 
it."  The  man  was  leaning  against  the  wall.  He  did 
not  say  anything  at  all. 

Then  Beason  held  out  his  hand.  "  Good-bye," 
he  said,  "  and — thank  you." 

For  a  minute  there  was  no  reply,  nothing  save 
the  very  cold  hand  given  in  response  to  Beason's. 
But  that  was  only  for  the  instant.  And  then  the 
man  in  him,  those  things  which  made  him  more  than 
a  great  scientist,  things  more  than  mind,  not  even 
to  be  comprehended  under  soul,  those  fundamental 
things  which  made  him  a  man,  rose  up  and  con 
quered.  He  straightened  up,  smiled  a  little,  and 
then  heartily,  quite  sunnily,  came  the  words :  "  Take 
a  brace,  Beason — take  a  good  brace.  And  good 
luck  to  you,  boy — good  luck." 

The  door  had  closed.  At  last  he  was  alone  again. 
Dizzy  with  the  strain  he  staggered  to  a  chair.  For 
a  long  time  he  sat  there,  many  emotions  struggling 
in  his  face.  He  could  not  see  it  yet — not  quite. 
It  was  all  very  new,  and  uncertain.  But  'way  out 
there  in  the  darkness  it  seemed  there  was  perhaps 
something  waiting  for  him  to  grasp.  He  would 
never  give  that  other  message,  but  it  might  be,  if 
he  worked  hard  enough,  and  never  faltered,  he  could 
learn  to  say  to  the  world  which  had  given  him  this, 
say  heartily,  quite  sunnily :  "  Good  luck  to  you. 
Good  luck," 


CHAPTER    XVII 

DISTANT    STRAINS    OF    TRIUMPH 

IT  worried  Ernestine  when  she  saw  Dr.  Park- 
man's  motor  car  stopping  before  the  house 
early  Tuesday  morning.  He  had  been  there 
the  afternoon  before,  and  then  again  late  in  the 
evening,  bringing  another  doctor  with  him.  He  said 
that  they  simply  came  to  help  keep  Karl  amused; 
but  surely  he  would  not  be  coming  again  this  morn 
ing  if  there  were  not  something  more  serious  than  she 
knew.  Karl  had  come  home  from  the  university 
about  noon  the  day  before,  saying  that  his  head  was 
bad  and  he  was  going  to  consider  himself  "  all  in  " 
for  the  day.  Something  about  him  had  frightened 
her,  but  he  insisted  that  it  only  showed  what  a  head 
ache  could  do  to  a  fellow  who  was  not  accustomed  to 
it.  He  had  remained  in  his  darkened  room  all  day, 
not  even  turning  his  face  from  the  wall  when  she  came 
in  to  do  things  for  him.  That  worried  her,  and  even 
the  doctor's  assurance  that  he  was  not  going  to  be  ill 
had  not  sufficed.  In  fact,  she  thought  Dr.  Parkman 
was  acting  strangely  himself. 

"  I  was  out  in  this  part  of  town  and  thought  I'd 
drop  in,"  he  told  her,  as  she  opened  the  door  for  him. 

"  You're  not  worried  about  Karl  ?  "  she  demanded. 

He  was  hanging  up  his  cap.  "  You  see,  I  don't 
want  him  to  get  up  and  go  over  to  the  university," 

133 


THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

he  said,  after  a  minute's  pause,  in  which  she  thought 
he  had  not  heard  her  question.  "  That  wouldn't  be 
good  for  his  eyes." 

"  Well,  doctor,  what  is  it  about  his  eyes?  Is  it  just 
— something  that  must  run  its  course?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  answered,  and  she  was  a  little  hurt 
by  the  short  way  he  said  it.  Was  it  not  the  most 
natural  thing  in  the  world  she  should  want  to  know? 
Really,  doctors  might  be  a  little  more  satisfactory, 
she  thought,  as  she  told  him  he  would  find  Karl  in  his 
room. 

She  herself  went  into  the  library.  Down  in  the 
next  block  she  saw  the  postman,  and  thought  she 
would  wait  for  him.  She  felt  all  unnerved  this  morn 
ing.  Things  were  happening  which  she  did  not  un 
derstand,  and  then  she  felt  so  "  left  out  of  things." 
She  wanted  to  do  things  for  Karl;  she  would  love  to 
hover  over  him  while  he  was  not  well,  but  he  seemed 
to  prefer  being  let  alone ;  and  as  for  Dr.  Parkman, 
there  was  no  sense  in  his  adopting  so  short  and  pro 
fessional  a  manner  with  her. 

But  as  she  stood  there  by  the  window,  the  bright 
morning  sunlight  fell  upon  her  ruby,  and  she  smiled. 
She  loved  her  ring  so !  It  was  so  dear  of  Karl  to  get 
it  for  her.  The  warm,  deep  lights  in  it  seemed  to 
symbolise  their  love,  and  it  would  always  be  asso 
ciated  with  that  first  night  she  had  worn  it,  that  beau 
tiful  hour  when  they  sat  together  before  the  fire. 
That  had  been  its  baptism  in  love. 

The  postman  was  at  the  door  now,  and  she  hurried 
to  meet  him.  She  was  much  interested  in  the  mail 


DISTANT  STRAINS  OF  TRIUMPH      135 

these  (lays,  for  surely  she  would  hear  any  time  now  re 
garding  her  picture  in  Paris. 

It  had  come!  The  topmost  letter  had  a  foreign 
stamp,  and  she  recognised  the  writing  of  Laplace. 

Heart  beating  very  fast,  she  started  up  to  her 
studio.  She  wanted  to  be  up  there,  all  by  herself, 
when  she  read  this  letter.  As  she  passed  Karl's  door 
she  heard  Dr.  Parkman  telling  about  having  punc 
tured  a  tire  on  his  machine  the  night  before.  Of 
course  then  everything  really  was  all  right,  or  he 
would  not  have  talked  about  trivial  things  like 
that. 

Her  fingers  fumbled  so  that  she  could  scarcely 
open  the  envelope.  And  then  she  tried  to  laugh  her 
self  out  of  that,  prepare  for  disappointment.  Why, 
what  in  the  world  did  she  expect  ? 

As  she  read  the  letter  her  face  went  very  white, 
her  fingers  trembled  more  and  more.  Then  she  had 
to  go  back  and  read  it  sentence  by  sentence.  It  was 
too  much  to  take  in  all  at  once. 

It  was  not  so  much  that  it  had  been  awarded  a 
medal ;  not  so  much  that  a  great  London  collector — 
Laplace  said  he  was  the  most  discriminating  collector 
he  knew — wanted  to  buy  it.  The  overwhelming  thing 
was  that  the  critics  of  Paris  treated  it  as  something 
entitled  to  their  very  best  consideration.  The  medal 
and  the  sale  might  have  come  by  chance,  but  some 
thing  about  these  clippings  he  had  enclosed  seemed 
to  stand  for  achievement.  They  said  that  "  The  Hid 
den  Waterfall,"  by  a  young  American  artist,  was 
one  of  the  most  live  and  individual  things  of  the  ex- 


136  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

hibition.  They  mentioned  things  in  her  work  which 
were  poor — but  not  one  of  them  passed  her  over 
lightly ! 

She  grew  very  quiet  as  she  sat  there  thinking  about 
it.  The  consciousness  of  it  surged  through  and: 
through  her,  but  she  sat  quite  motionless.  It  seemed 
too  big  a  thing  for  mere  rejoicing.  For  what  it 
meant  was  that  the  years  had  not  played  her  false. 
It  meant  the  justification — exaltation — of  something 
her  inmost  self. 

And  it  meant  that  the  future  was  hers  to  take! 
She  leaned  forward  as  if  looking  into  the  coming 
years,  eyes  shining  with  aspiration,  cheeks  flushed 
with  triumph.  She  quivered  with  desire — the  desire 
to  express  what  she  knew  was  within  her. 

It  was  while  lost  to  her  joy  and  her  dreaming  that 
she  heard  a  step  upon  the  stairs.  She  started  up — 
instantly  broken  from  the  magic  of  the  moment.  Per 
haps  Karl  needed  her.  And  then  before  she  reached 
the  door  she  knew  that  it  was  Karl  himself.  How 
very  strange ! 

"  Oh,  Karl ! " — not  able  to  contain  it  a  minute— 

"  I  want  to  tell  you "  and  then,  startled  as  he 

stumbled  a  little,  and  going  down  a  few  steps  to  meet 
him — "but  isn't  there  too  much  light  up  here? 
Shouldn't  you  stay  down  in  the  dark?  " 

"  I  don't  want  to  stay  down  in  the  dark ! " — he 
said  it  with  a  low  intensity  which  startled  her,  and 
then  she  laughed. 

"  I've  always  heard  there  was  nothing  so  perverse 
as  a  sick  man.  I'll  tell  you  what's  the  matter  with 


DISTANT    STRAINS    OF    TRIUMPH       137 

you.  You're  lonesome.  You're  tired  of  getting 
along  without  me — now  aren't  you?  But  we'll  go 
down  to  the  library,  and  down  there  I'll  tell  you — oh, 
what  I'll  tell  you !  I  thought  Dr.  Parkman  was 
going  to  stay  with  you  a  while," — as  he  did  not 
speak — "'or  I  shouldn't  have  come  away." 

He  had  seated  himself,  and  was  rubbing  his  head, 
as  though  it  pained  him.  His  eyes  were  hidden,  but 
his  face,  in  this  bright  light,  made  her  want  to  cry, 
it  told  so  plainly  of  his  suffering.  He  reached  out 
his  hand  for  hers.  "  I  didn't  want  him  any  longer, 
liebchen," — he  said  it  much  like  a  little  child — "  I 
want — you." 

"  Of  course  you  do," — tenderly — "  and  I'm  the  one 
for  you  to  have.  But  not  up  here.  The  light  is  too 
bright  up  here." 

She  pulled  at  his  hand  as  if  to  induce  him  to  rise. 
But  he  made  no  movement  to  do  so,  and  he  did  not 
seem  to  have  heard  what  she  said.  "  Ernestine,"  he 
said,  in  a  low  voice — there  was  something  not  just 
natural  in  Karl's  voice,  a  tiredness,  a  something  gone 
from  it — "  will  you  do  something  for  me?  " 

She  sat  down  on  the  arm  of  his  chair,  her  arm 
about  him  with  her  warm  impulsiveness.  "  Why 
Karl,  dear  " — a  light  kiss  upon  his  hair — "  you  know 
I  would  do  anything  in  the  world  for  you." 

"  I  want  you  to  show  me  your  pictures," — he  said 
it  abruptly,  shortly.  "I  want  to  look  at  them  this 
morning; — all  of  them." 

"  But — but  Karl,"  she  gasped,  rising  in  her  as 
tonishment — "  not  now!  " 


138    THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

"  Yes — now.  You  promised.  You  said  you'd  do 
anything  in  the  world  for  me." 

"  But  not  something  that  will  hurt  you !  " 

"  It  won't  hurt  me," — still  abruptly,  shortly. 

"  But  I  know  better  than  that !  Why  any  one 
knows  that  eyes  in  bad  condition  mustn't  be  used. 
And  looking  at  pictures — up  here  in  this  bright  light 
— so  needless — so  crazy," — she  laughed,  though  she 
was  puzzled  and  worried. 

He  was  silent,  and  something  in  his  bearing  went 
to  her  heart.  His  head,  his  shoulders,  his  whole 
being  seemed  bowed.  It  was  so  far  from  Karl's 
real  self.  "  Any  other  time,  dear,"  she  said,  very 
gently.  "  You  know  I  would  love  to  do  it,  but  some 
time  when  you  are  better  able  to  look  at  them." 

"  I'm  just  as  able  to  look  at  them  now  as  I  will 
ever  be,"  he  said,  slowly.  "  Ernestine — please." 

"  But  Karl," — her  voice  quivering — "  I  just  can't 
bear  to  do  a  thing  that  will  do  you  harm." 

"It  won't  do  me  harm.  I  give  you  my  word  of 
honour  it  won't  make  any  serious  difference." 

"  But  Dr.  Parkman  said " 

"  I  give  you  my  word  of  honour,"  he  repeated,  a 
little  sharply. 

"All  right,  then,"  she  relented,  reluctantly,  and 
darkened  the  room  a  little. 

"  Dear," — sitting  on  a  stool  beside  him — "  you're 
perfectly  sure  this  trouble  with  your  eyes  isn't  any 
more  serious  than  you  think?  " 

:<  Yes,"  he  answered,  firmly  enough,  but  something 


DISTANT   STRAINS   OF   TRIUMPH      139 

in  his  voice  sounded  queer,  "  I'm  perfectly  sure  of 
that." 

"  Show  me  your  pictures,  Ernestine,"  laying  his 
hand  upon  her  hair ;  "  I've  taken  a  particular  notion 
that  I  want  to  see  them." 

"  But  first  "—carried  back  to  it— "I  want  to  tell 
you  something."  She  laughed,  excitedly.  "  I  was 
coming  down  to  tell  you  as  soon  as  the  doctor  left. 
Oh  Karl — my  picture  in  Paris — I  heard  from  it 
this  morning,  and  its  'success  has  been — tremen 
dous  ! "  She  laughed  happily  over  the  word  and 
did  not  think  why  it  was  Karl's  hand  gripped  her 
shoulder  in  that  quick,  tight  way.  "  Shall  I  read 
you  all  about  it,  dear?  And  then  will  you  promise  to 
cheer  right  up?  " 

Still  that  tight  grip  upon  her  shoulder!  It  hurt 
a  little,  but  she  did  not  mind — it  just  showed  how 
much  Karl  cared.  The  hand  was  still  there  as  she 
read  the  letter,  and  then  the  clippings  which  told  of 
the  rare  quality  of  her  work,  predicted  the  great 
things  she  was  sure  to  do, — sometimes  it  tightened 
a  little,  and  sometimes  it  relaxed,  and  once,  with  a 
quick  movement  he  stooped  down  and  turned  her 
ring  around,  turning  the  stone  to  the  inside  of  her 
hand. 

When  she  had  finished  he  was  quite  still  for  a  long 
minute.  He  was  breathing  hard; — Karl  was  ex 
cited  about  it  too!  And  then  he  stooped  over  and 
kissed  her  forehead,  and  it  startled  her  to  feel  that 
his  lips  were  very  cold. 


140  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

"  Liebchen,"  he  said,  his  voice  trembling  a  bit — 
Karl  did  care  so  much ! — "  I  am  glad."  For  a  min 
ute  he  was  very  still  again,  and  then  he  added,  seem 
ing  to  mean  a  different  thing  by  it — "  I  am  very 
glad." 

"It's  gone  to  my  head  a  little,  Karl!  Oh  I'm 
perfectly  willing  to  admit  it  has.  I  don't  think  I 
should  appreciate  the  Gloria  Victis  very  much  my 
self  this  morning,"  she  laughed,  happily. 

She  was  too  absorbed  to  notice  the  quick  little 
Drawing  in  of  his  breath,  or  his  silence.  "  After  all, 
it  would  be  a  sorry  thing  if  I  didn't  succeed,"  she 
pursued,  gayly,  "  for  you  stand  so  for  success  that 
we  couldn't  be  so  close  together — could  we,  dear — 
if  I  were  a  dismal  failure  ?  " 

"You  think  not?"  he  asked — and  she  wondered 
if  he  had  taken  a  little  cold;  his  voice  sounded  that 
way. 

"  Oh  I  don't  mean  that  too  literally.  But  I  like 
the  idea  of  our  going  through  the  same  experiences 
— both  succeeding.  It  seems  to  me  I  can  understand 
ryou  better  this  morning  than  I  ever  did  before.  I 
read  a  little  poem  last  night,  and  at  the  time  I 
liked  it  so  much.  It  is  about  success,  or  rather  about 
not  succeeding.  But  I'm  afraid  it  wouldn't  appeal 
(to  me  very  much  just  now," — again  she  laughed, 
happily,  and  it  was  well  for  the  happiness  that  she 
was  not  looking  at  him  then. 

"What  was  it?  "  he  asked,  as  he  saw  she  was  go 
ing  to  turn  around  to  him,  "  Say  it." 


DISTANT   STRAINS   OF   TRIUMPH      141 

"  Part  of  it  was  like  this : 

'Not  one  of  all  the  purple  host 
Who  took  the  flag  to-day 
Can  tell  the   definition 
So  clear,  of  victory, 

As  he,  defeated,   dying, 

On  whose  forbidden  ear 

The   distant   strains   of  triumph 

Break  agonized  and  clear.' 

"  Say  that  last  verse  again,"  he  said,  his  voice 
thick  and  low ;— Karl  was  so  different  when  he  was 

sick! 

"As    he,   defeated,    dying, 
On  whose  forbidden  ear 
The  distant  strains  of  triumph 
Break  agonized  and  clear." 

"  It  is  beautiful,  isn't  it?  "  she  said,  as  he  did  not 

speak. 

"Beautiful?  I  don't  know.  I  suppose  it  is.  I 
was  thinking  that  quite  likely  it  is  true." 

"  But  I  didn't  suppose  you  would  care  about  it, 
Karl.  I  supposed  you  would  feel  about  it  as  you  did 
about  the  statue." 

"  I  wonder,"  he  began,  slowly,  not  seeming  sure 
of  what  he  wanted  to  say— "  how  much  the  com 
prehension,  the  understanding  of  things,  that  the  loss 
would  bring,  would  make  up  for  the  success  taken 
away?  I  wonder  just  what  the  defeated  fellow  could 
work  out  of  that?" 


THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

"But  dearie,  is  it  true?  Why  can  failure  com 
prehend  success  any  more  than  success  can  compre 
hend  failure?  " 

"  It's  different,"  he  said,  shortly. 

"How  do  you  know?"  she  asked  banteringly. 
"  What  do  you  know  about  it?  You  don't  even  know 
how  to  spell  the  word  failure ! " 

He  started  to  say  something,  but  stopped,  and 
then  he  stooped  over  and  rested  his  head  for  a  min 
ute  upon  her  hair.  "  Tell  me  about  your  picture, 
Ernestine,"  he  said,  quietly,  after  that.  "  Tell  me 
just  what  it  is." 

"The  Hidden  Waterfall?  Why  you  know  it, 
Karl." 

;sYes,  but  I  want  to  hear  you  talk  about  it.  I 
want  to  hear  you  tell  just  what  it  means." 

;fi  Well,  you  remember  it  is  a  child  standing  in  a 
beautiful  part  of  the  woods.  It  is  spring-time,  as 
it  seems  best  it  should  be  when  you  are  painting  a 
child  in  the  woods.  I  tried  to  make  the  picture 
breathe  spring,  and  you  know  one  of  the  writers 
said  that  the  delicious  thing  about  it  was  the  way 
you  got  the  smell  of  the  woods;— that  pleased  me. 
Behind  the  child,  visible  in  the  picture,  but  invisible 
to  the  child,  is  a  waterfall.  The  most  vital  thing  in 
the  universe  to  me  was  to  have  that  waterfall  make  a 
sound.  I  think  it  does,  or  the  picture  wouldn't  mean 
anything  at  all.  And  then  of  course  the  heart  of 
the  picture  is  in  the  child's  face— the  puzzled  sur 
prise,  the  glad  wonder,  and  then  deeper  than  that 
the  response  to  something  which  cannot  be  under 
stood.  It  might  have  been  called  « Wondering/  or 


DISTANT   STRAINS   OF.   TRIUMPH      143 

even  *  Mystery,'  but  I  liked  the  simpler  title  better. 
And  I  like  that  idea  of  painting,  not  just  nature, 
but  what  nature  means  to  man.  I  want  to  get  at 
the  response — the  thing  awakened — the  things  given 
back.  Don't  you  see  how  that  translates  the  spirit 
there  is  between  nature  and  man — stands  for  the 
oneness?  " 

He  nodded,  seeming  to  be  thinking.  "  I  see,"  he 
said  at  last.  "  I  wonder  if  you  know  all  that  means?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  I  think  I  do.  My  next  picture  will 
get  at  it  in  a — um — a  more  mature  way." 

«  Tell  me  about  it." 

"I  don't  know  that  I  can,  very  well.  It's  hard 
to  put  pictures  into  words.  I  fear  it  will  sound  very 
conventional  as  I  tell  it,  but  of  course  it  is  what  one 
puts  into  it  that  makes  for  individuality.  It  is  in 
the  woods,  too.  You  know,  Karl,  how  I  love  the 
woods.  And  I  know  them!  It  is  not  spring  now, 
but  middle  summer;  no  suggestion  of  fall,  but  ma 
ture  summer.  A  girl — just  about  such  a  girl  as  I 
was  before  you  came  that  day  and  changed  every 
thing — had  gone  into  the  woods  with  a  couple  of 
books.  She  had  been  sitting  under  a  tree,  reading. 
But  in  the  picture  she  is  standing  up  very  straight, 
leaning  against  the  tree,  the  books  overturned  and 
forgotten  at  her  feet — drawn  into  the  bigger  book 
— see?  It  is  not  that  she  has  consciously  yielded  her 
self.  It  is  not  that  she  is  consciously  doing  anything. 
She  is  listening — oh  how  she  listens  and  longs !  For 
what,  none  of  us  know — she  least  of  all.  Perhaps 
to  the  far  off  call  of  life  and  love  speaking  through 
the  tender  spirit  of  the  woods.  Oh  how  J  love  that 


144  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

girl ! — and  believe  in  her — and  hope  for  her.  In  her 
eyes  are  the  dreams  of  centuries.  And  don't  you 
see  that  it  is  the  same  idea — the  oneness — the  open 
ness  of  nature  to  the  soul  open  to  it?  " 

"  And  you  are  going  to  make  the  woods  very 
beautiful?  "  he  asked,  after  a  little  thought.  "  More 
than  just  the  beauty  of  trees  and  grass  and  colour?  " 

"  Yes,  the  beauty  that  calls  to  one. 

"Then,"  he  said  this  a  little  timidly— "  might  it 
not  be  striking  to  have  your  girl,  not  really  seeing 
it  with  the  eyes  at  all?  Have  her  eyes — closed, 
perhaps,  but  she  feeling  it,  knowing  it,  in  the  higher 
sense  really  seeing  it,  just  the  same?  " 

She  thought  about  that  a  minute.  "  N — o,  Karl ; 
I  think  not.  It  seems  to  me  she  must  be  open  to  it 
in  every  way  to  make  it  stand  for  life,  in  the  sense 
I  want  it  to." 

"  Perhaps,"  he  said,  his  voice  drooping  a  little. 
And  then,  abruptly:  "Have  you  done  any  of 
that?" 

"  Oh,  just  some  little  sketches." 

"Show  me  the  little  sketches,"  he  begged.  "I 
want  to  see  them  all." 

"  Oh,  but  Karl,  they  wouldn't  convey  the  idea  at 
all.  Wait  until  it  is  farther  along." 

"No,  please  show  them  this  morning," — softly, 
persuasively. 

She  was  puzzled,  and  reluctant,  but  she  got  them 
out,  and  with  them  other  things  to  show  him.  He 
asked  many  questions.  In  the  sketches  she  was  going 
to  develop  he  would  know  just  how  she  was  going 


DISTANT    STRAINS   OF   TRIUMPH      145 

to  elaborate  them.  He  asked  her  to  tell  just  how 
they  would  look  when  worked  out.  "  I'm  a  sick  boy 
home  from  school,"  he  said,  "  and  I  must  be  amused." 
And  then  he  looked  at  her  finished  pictures;  she 
protested  against  the  intentness  with  which  he  looked 
at  some  of  them,  insisting  they  were  not  worth  the 
strain  she  could  see  it  was  on  his  eyes.  "  It's  queer 
about  finished  pictures,"  she  laughed ;  "  they're  not 
half  so  great  and  satisfying  as  the  pictures  you  are 
going  to  do  next."  It  went  through  her  with  a 
sharp  pain  to  see  Karl  hurting  his  eyes  as  she  knew 
he  was  hurting  them.  She  could  not  understand  his 
insistence;  it  was  not  like  him  to  be  so  unreasonable. 
And  he  looked  so  terribly — so  worn  and  ill;  if  only 
he  would  go  to  bed  and  let  her  take  care  of  him! 
But  he  seemed  intent  on  knowing  all  there  was 
to  know  about  the  pictures.  A  strange  whim  for 
him  to  cling  to  this  way!  As  he  looked  he  wanted 
her  to  talk  about  them — tell  just  what  this  and  that 
meant,  insisting  upon  getting  the  full  significance 
of  it  all. 

He  had  never  before  appreciated  her  firm  grasp. 
Her  work  in  these  different  stages  of  evolution  gave 
him  a  clearer  idea  of  how  much  she  had  worked  and 
studied,  how  seriously  and  intelligently  she  had  set 
out  for  the  mastery  of  her  craft.  He  had  always 
known  that  the  poetic  impulses  were  there,  the  de 
sire  to  express,  the  ideas,  the  delight  in  colour,  but 
he  saw  now  the  other  things ;  this  was  letting  him 
into  the  workman's  side  of  her  work. 

He  spoke  of  that,  and  she  laughed.     "  Yes,  this 


146  THE  GLORY  OF,  THE  CONQUERED 

is  what  they  don't  see.  This  is  what  they  never  know. 
Poetic  impulses  don't  paint  pictures,  Karl.  That's 
the  incentive ;  the  thing  that  keeps  one  at  it,  but  you 
can't  do  it  without  these  tricks  of  the  trade  which 
mean  just  downright  work.  I've  never  worked  on  a 
picture  yet  in  which  I  wasn't  almost  fatally  handi 
capped  by  this  thing  of  not  knowing  enough.  The 
bigger  your  idea,  the  more  skill,  cunning,  fairly, 
you  must  have  to  force  it  into  life." 

She  told  him  at  last  that  they  were  through. 
They  had  even  looked  at  rude  little  sketches  she  had 
made  of  places  they  had  cared  for  in  Europe.  In 
deed  he  looked  very  long  at  some  of  those  little 
sketches  of  places  they  had  loved. 

"  One  thing  more,"  he  said ;  "  you  told  me  once 
you  had  some  water  colour  daubs  you  did  when  a 
little  girl.  Let  me  look  at  them.  I  just  want  to  see," 
he  laughed,  "  how  they  compare." 

And  so  she  got  them  out,  and  they  looked  them 
over,  laughing  at  them.  "You've  gone  a  long 
way,"  he  said,  pushing  them  aside,  as  if  suddenly 
tired. 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  his  hand  above  his 
eyes,  as  she  began  gathering  up  the  things*  "  And 
so  here  I  am,"  she  said,  waving  her  hand  to  include 
the  things  about  her,  "  surrounded  by  the  things  I've 
done.  Not  a  vast  array,  and  some  of  it  not  amount 
ing  to  much,  but  it's  I,  dear.  It  reflects  me  all 
through  these  years." 

"  I  know,"  he  said—"  that's  just  it,"— and  at  the 
way  he  said  it  she  looked  up  quickly.  "  You're  tired, 


DISTANT   STRAINS   OF   TRIUMPH      147 

Karl.  It's  been  too  much.  We'll  go  down  stairs 
now,  and  rest.' 

He  watched  her  as  she  gathered  the  things  to 
gether.  It  seemed  he  had  never  really  known  this 
Ernestine  before.  Here  was  indeed  the  atmosphere 
of  work,  the  joy  of  working,  all  the  earnestness  and 
enthusiasm  of  the  real  worker.  And  then,  with  mas 
terful  effort,  he  roused  himself.  He  had  not  yet 
touched  what  he  had  come  to  know. 

"  I  have  been  thinking,"  he  began,  "  a  little  about 
the  psychology  of  all  this.  You'll  think  I'm  de 
veloping  a  wonderful  interest  in  art,  but  you  see 
I'm  laid  up  and  can't  do  my  own  work,  so  I'm  en 
titled  to  some  thoughts  about  art.  Now  these  things 
you  paint  grow  out  of  a  mental  image — don't  they, 
dear?  The  things  you  paint  the  mind  sees  first, 
so  that  the  mental  image  is  the  true  one,  and  then 
you — approximate.  I  should  think  then  that  it 
might  help  you  to  tell  about  pictures.  For  instance, 
if  in  painting  a  picture  you  had  to  tell  about  it  to 
some  one  who  did  not  look  at  it,  wouldn't  that  make 
your  own  mental  image  more  clear,  and  so  help  make 
it  more  real  to  you?  ' 

"  Why,  Karl,  I  never  thought  of  it,  but,"— medi 
tatively — "  yes,  I  believe  it  would." 

He  turned  away  that  she  might  not  see  the  glad 
ness  in  his  face.  "  And  it  would  be  interesting — 
wouldn't  it — to  see  just  how  good  a  conception  you 
could  give  of  the  picture  through  words?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  interested  now — "  it  would  be  a 
way  of  feeling  one's  own  grip  on  it." 


148    THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

"  Of  course,"  he  continued,  "  that  couldn't  be  done 
except  in  a  case,  like  yours  and  mine,  where  people 
were  close  together." 

"Yes,"  she  assented,  "and  that  in  itself  would 
show  that  they  were  close  together." 

At  that  he  laid  a  quick  hand  upon  her  hair,  ca 
ressing  it. 

"  Oh,  after  all,  dear," — gathering  up  the  last  of 
the  sketches — "  the  greatest  thing  in  the  world  is  to 
do  one's  work — isn't  it?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  was  low  and  tired, 
"  unless  the  greatest  thing  in  the  world  is  to  sub 
mit  to  the  inevitable." 

She  looked  up  quickly.  "  That  doesn't  sound  like 
you." 

"Doesn't  it?  Oh,  well,"— with  a  little  laugh— 
"  you  know  a  scientist  is  supposed  to  be  capable  of 
a  good  deal  of  change  in  the  point  of  view." 

He  had  risen,  and  was  at  the  door.  "  It's  been 
good  of  you  to  do  all  this,  Ernestine." 

"  Why  it  has  been  a  delight  to  me,  dear ;  if  only  it 
hasn't  hurt  you.  But  it  is  time  now  to  go  down 
where  it  is  dark." 

"  Yes,"  he  assented  wearily ;  "  it  is  time  now  to 
go  down  where  it  is  dark." 


CHAPTER    XVIII 
TELLING   ERNESTINE 

HE  had  thought  to  tell  her  on  Tuesday,  but 
after  their  talk,  when  he  took  his  last 
look  at  her  pictures — it  had  tortured  both 
eyes  and  heart  to  do  that,  but  he  knew 
in  the  days  ahead  that  he  would  be  unsatisfied  with 
having  passed  it  by — he  could  not  bring  himself 
then  to  do  it.  He  could  not  keep  it  from  her  long 
now,  but  she  was  so  happy  that  day  in  her  triumph 
about  the  picture.  He  was  going  to  darken  all  of 
her  days  to  come;  he  would  leave  her  this  one  more 
unclouded.  But  it  was  hard  for  him  to  go  through 
with  it.  He  longed  for  her  so  1  He  must  have  her 
help.  He  had  asked  for  the  pictures  before  telling 
her  just  because  he  knew  it  would  be  unbearable  for 
them  both,  if  she  did  know.  It  would  need  to  be 
done  in  that  casual  way  or  not  at  all.  It  was  strange 
how  he  felt  he  must  see  them.  It  was  his  longing  to 
keep  close  to  her.  He  could  not  bear  the  thought 
that  his  blindness  might  make  him  to  her  as  some 
thing  apart  from  life,  even  though  the  dearest  thing 
of  all.  He  must  enter  into  every  channel  of  her  life. 
It  was  Wednesday  now,  and  he  had  told  her.  All 
the  night  before  he  had  lain  awake  trying  to  think 
of  words  which  would  hurt  her  the  least.  He  would 
put  it  very  tenderly  to  his  poor  Ernestine.  He  would 
149 


150    THE    GLORY    OF,    THE    CONQUERED 

even  pretend  he  saw  some  way  ahead,  something  to 
do.  Ernestine  could  not  bear  it  unless  he  did  that. 
It  was  the  one  thing  which  remained  for  him  now — 
to  make  it  easy  for  her. 

This  was  firmly  fixed  in  his  mind  when  he  told  her 
that  morning  he  wanted  to  talk  to  her  about  some 
thing  and  asked  her  to  come  into  the  library.  He 
was  sure  he  had  himself  well  in  hand ;  the  words  were 
upon  his  lips.  And  then  when  he  said :  "  I  want  to 
tell  you  something,  dear — something  that  will  hurt 
you  very  much.  I  never  wanted  to  hurt  you ;  I  can 
not  help  it  now," — when  he  had  said  that,  and  she, 
with  quick  response  to  the  sorrow  in  his  voice,  had 
knelt  beside  him,  her  arms  about  his  neck,  something, 
— the  feel  of  her  arms,  the  knowing  there  was  some 
one  now  to  help  him — swept  &WSLJ  the  words  and  his 
broken-hearted  cry  had  been :  "  Oh,  sweetheart — help 
me !  I'm  going  blind !  " 

Those  first  moments  took  from  her  something  of 
youth  and  gladness  she  would  never  regain.  First 
frozen  with  horror,  then  clinging  to  him  wildly,  sob 
bing  that  it  could  not  be  so — that  Dr.  Parkman, 
some  one,  would  do  something  about  it ;  protesting  in 
a  fierce  outburst  of  the  love  which  rose  within  her 
that  it  did  not  matter,  that  she  would  make  it  all 
up  to  him — their  love  make  it  right — in  one  moment 
stricken  dumb  as  comprehension  of  it  grew  upon  her, 
in  another  wildly  defying  fate,  but  always  clinging 
to  him,  holding  him  so  close,  trying,  though  fright 
ened  and  broken,  to  stand  between  him  and  the  awful 
thing  as  the  mother  would  stand  between  the  child 


TELLING    ERNESTINE  151 

and  its  destroyer,  Ernestine  left  with  that  hour  things 
never  to  be  claimed  again.  And  when  at  last  she 
began  to  sob — sobbing  as  he  had  never  heard  any 
one  sob  before — all  his  heart  was  roused  for  her,  and 
he  patted  her  head,  kissed  her  hair,  whispering: 
"  Little  one,  little  one,  don't.  We'll  bear  it  together 
— some  way." 

During  that  hour  she  never  loosened  her  arms 
about  his  neck.  Deep  in  his  despairing  heart  there 
glowed  one  warm  spark.  Ernestine  would  cling  to 
him  as  she  had  never  done  before.  God  had  not  gone 
out  of  the  world  then.  He  had  let  fate  strike  a 
fearful  blow,  but  He  had  left  to  the  wounded  heart 
such  love  as  this. 

"  Dear,"  she  said  at  last,  her  cheek  against  his, 
her  dear,  quivering  voice  trying  so  hard  to  be  brave, 
"  if  you  feel  like  telling  me  everything,  I  would  like 
to  know.  I  will  be  quiet.  I  will  be  good.  But  I  want 
to  bear  every  bit  of  it  with  you.  Every  bit  of  it, 
darling — now,  and  always.  That  is  all  I  ask — that 
you  let  me  bear  it  with  you." 

The  love,  the  understanding,  the  longing  to  help, 
which  were  in  her  voice  opened  that  innermost  cham 
ber  of  his  heart  to  her.  If  she  had  not  won  this 
victory  now,  she  could  never  have  done  so  in  the  days 
ahead.  This  hour  made  possible  the  other  hours  of 
pouring  out  his  heart  to  her,  taking  her  into  it  all. 
He  told  her  the  story  of  how  it  happened,  the  long, 
hard  story  which  only  covered  days,  but  seemed  to 
extend  through  years.  He  told  of  those  hours  of 
the  day  and  night  on  the  rack  of  uncertainty,  of 


152  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

trying  with  the  force  of  mind  and  soul  to  banish 
that  thing  which  had  not  claimed  him  then,  but 
stood  there  beside  him,  not  retreating, — waiting. 
He  told  her  of  that  lecture  hour  Monday  morning 
when  he  literally  divided  himself  into  two  parts,  one 
part  of  him  giving  the  lecture,  giving  it  just  as 
well  as  he  had  ever  done,  the  other  part  battling 
with  the  phantom  which  he  would  vanquish  or  sur 
render  to  within  an  hour.  And  her  only  cry  was: 
"You  should  have  told  me!  You  should  have  told 
me  from  the  first !  "  And  once  he  answered :  "  No, 
dear — no ;  before  I  knew  I  did  not  want  to  frighten 
you,  and  after — oh,  Ernestine,  believe  me,  sweetheart, 
I  would  have  shielded  you  forever,  no  matter  at  what 
cost  to  myself — if  only  I  could  have  done  it ! " 

At  last  he  had  finished  the  story.  He  had  told  it 
all;  of  sitting  there  afraid  to  look,  of  looking  and 
seeing  and  comprehending.  Oh  how  he  had  compre 
hended  !  It  was  as  if  his  mind  too,  his  mind  trained 
to  grasp  things,  had  turned  against  him,  was  stab 
bing  him  with  its  relentless  clearness  of  vision.  He 
told  her  of  the  merciless  comprehension  with  which 
he  saw  the  giving  up  of  his  work,  the  changing  of  his 
life,  the  giving  up — the  eternal  giving  up.  He  told 
her  of  how  it  had  seemed  to  mean  the  making  over  of 
his  soul.  For  his  soul  had  always  cried  for  conquest, 
for  victory,  for  doing  things.  How  would  he  turn 
it  now  to  submission,  to  surrender,  to  relinquishment  ? 
Everything  had  been  tumbling  about  him,  he  said, 
when  that  knock  came  at  the  door  as  the  call  from 
life,  the  intrusion  of  those  everyday  things  which 


TELLING    ERNESTINE  153 

would  not  let  him  alone,  even  in  an  hour  like  that. 
And  then  of  the  boy  with  his  paltry  trouble  which 
seemed  great — the  hurts — the  final  rising  up  of  the 
instinct  to  help,  despite  it  all.  Then  of  sitting  there 
alone  and  seeing  a  faint  light  in  the  distance,  won 
dering  if,  in  all  new  and  different  ways,  he  could  not 
keep  his  place  in  the  world. 

"  Oh  help  me  to  do  that,  sweetheart !  Help  me 
to  keep  right !  Don't  let  me  lose  out  with  those  other 
things  of  life !  " 

Her  arms  about  his  neck !  He  would  never  forget 
how  she  clung  to  him.  There  was  a  long  silence 
when  their  souls  reached  one  another  as  they  had 
never  done  before.  The  quivering  of  her  body,  her 
breath  upon  his  cheek — they  told  him  all.  But 
after  that,  the  words  did  come  to  her;  broken  words 
struggling  to  tell  of  what  her  love  would  do  to 
make  it  right ;  how  she  would  be  with  him,  so  close, 
so  unfailing,  that  the  darkness  would  never  find  him 
alone. 

His  arms  about  her  tightened.  Thank  God — oh 
yes,  a  million  times  thank  God  for  Ernestine ! 

Then  he  felt  her  start;  there  came  a  sound  as 
though  she  would  say  something,  but  choked  it 
back. 

"  Yes,  dear?  "  he  said  gently. 

"  Oh,  Karl,  I  shouldn't  ask  it.  It  will  hurt  you.  I 
shouldn't  ask." 

"  I  would  rather  you  did,  dear.  Ask  anything. 
We  are  holding  nothing  from  one  another  now." 

"  I  just  happened  to  think — I  wanted  to  know— 


154  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

oh  Karl,  it  wasn't  in  your  eye  on  my  birthday,  was 
it?  It  hadn't  happened — wasn't  happening — when 
we  sat  there  by  the  fire,  happier  than  we  had  ever 
been  before?  " 

His  impulse  was  to  hold  that  back.  Why  should 
he  put  that  upon  her,  too,  to  hurt  her  as  it  had  him, 
shake  her  faith  as  it  had  tried  to  shake  his? 

But  his  moment  of  silence  could  not  be  redeemed. 
"  Karl," — her  voice  was  strangely  quiet — "  it  wasn't, 
was  it?" 

He  groaned,  and  she  had  her  answer. 

She  sprang  away  from  him,  standing  straight. 
"  Then,"  she  cried — he  would  never  have  dreamed 
Ernestine's  voice  could  have  sounded  like  that — "  I 
hate  the  world !  I  despise  it !  I  will  not  have  any 
thing  to  do  with  it !  It  fooled  us — cheated  us — 
made  fun  of  us!  I'll  despise  it — fight  it " — the 
words  became  incoherent,  the  sobs  grew  very  wild, 
she  sank  to  the  floor,  crouching  there,  her  hands 
clenched,  sobbing :  "  I  hate  it !  Oh  how  I  want  to 
pay  it  back !  " 

He  was  long  in  quieting  her,  but  at  last  she  would 
listen  to  him. 

"  Ernestine,"  he  said,  his  voice  almost  stern,  "  if 
you  start  out  like  that  you  cannot  help  me.  It  is 
to  you  I  look.  If  you  love  me,  Ernestine,  help  me 
not  to  hate  the  world.  If  wTe  hate  the  world,  we  have 
given  up.  Sweetheart," — the  voice  changed  on  that 
word — "  even  yet — even  yet  in  a  different  way,  I 
want  to  win.  I  cannot  do  it  alone.  I  cannot  do  it 
at  all,  if  you  hate  the  world.  You  are  to  be  my  eyes, 


TELLING    ERNESTINE  155 

Ernestine.  You  are  to  see  the  beautiful  things  for 
me.  You  are  to  make  me  love  them  more  than  I 
ever  did  before.  You  are  to  be  the  light — don't 
you  see,  sweetheart?  And  you  cannot  do  it,  don't 
you  see  you  cannot,  if  your  own  heart  is  not  right 
with  the  world?" 

She  did  not  answer,  but  she  came  back  to  his 
arms.  Her  quick  breath  told  him  how  hard  she  was 
trying. 

"  See  your  statue  up  there,  liebchen  ?  Remember 
how  you  always  liked  it?  What  you  said  about  it 
that  night?  Oh,  Ernestine  "-—crushing  her  to  him 
— "  help  me  to  grip  tight  to  my  broken  sword !  " 


CHAPTER    XIX 
INTO    THE   DARK 

SHE  was  with  him  as  he  went  then  into  the 
dark.     She  did  not  fail  him  in  anything:  the 
hand  in  his,  the  little  strokes  of  genius  in 
holding  his  mind,  and  when  they  went  into 
the  deeps  where  words  were  not  fitted  for  utterance 
she  did  not  fail  him  in  those  other  things.     He  knew 
that  as   she  clung  to  him  with  loving  arms,  so  her 
spirit  reached  out  to  him  in  the  demand  that  it  be 
permitted  to  sustain. 

Through  the  day  and  through  the  night  she  was 
with  him  now.  There  was  no  time  when  he  could 
not  reach  out  to  find  her,  no  bad  dream  from  which 
he  could  not  awaken  to  put  his  hand  upon  her  and 
know  that  she  was  there.  And  when,  time  after 
time,  bitterness  rose  up  to  submerge  his  soul,  he  could 
always  finally  shake  it  off  by  thanking  God  for 
Ernestine. 

For  a  time  the  pain  in  his  eyes  served  as  a  kindly 
antidote.  The  light  was  going  out  with  so  intense 
a  suffering  as  to  mitigate  the  suffering  in  the  con 
sciousness  of  its  going.  It  was  the  pain  in  his 
temples  helped  him  hold  off  the  pain  of  giving  up 
his  work.  It  was  not  a  thing  conquered;  he  knew 

156 


INTO   THE   DARK  157 

that  the  deeper  pain  was  waiting  for  him  out  there 
in  the  darkness  when  the  pain  of  transition  should 
have  ceased,  leaving  only  a  blank,  a  darkness,  no 
other  thing  to  engage  for  him  any  part  of  his  mind. 
There  was  blessedness  in  the  temporary  alleviation 
brought  by  the  pain  that  was  physical.  There  were 
many  things  for  him  to  meet  out  there.  They  were 
willing  to  wait.  Now  his  fighting  powers  were  so 
well  engaged  as  to  take  something  from  the  reality 
of  a  future  battlefield. 

In  many  ways  it  was  not  as  he  would  have  imagined 
it  had  he  known  of  such  a  thing.  He  would  have 
thought  of  it  as  one  long  mood  of  despair,  inflamed 
at  times  by  the  passion  of  rebellion.  There  were, 
in  truth,  many  moods.  In  hours  when  he  was  quiet 
they  spoke  of  the  things  they  had  seen  and  loved, 
of  Italy  and  the  Alps  they  spoke  often,  struggling 
for  the  words  to  paint  a  picture.  Sometimes  she  read 
a  little  to  him — there  would  be  much  of  that  now. 
Through  it  all,  they  seized  upon  anything  which 
would  sustain  each  other.  Once  when  he  saw  her 
faltering  he  told  her  that  he  thought  after  awhile  he 
would  write  a  book.  He  did  not  call  it  a  text-book ; 
did  not  speak  of  it  as  the  kind  of  work  to  which  a 
man  sometimes  turns  when  his  creative  work  is  done. 
He  had  always  thought  that  when  he  was  sixty  or 
seventy  he  might  write  a  few  books.  He  would  write 
them  now  at  forty. 

And  when  there  came  times  of  its  being  utterly 
unbearable,  they  were  either  silent  or  trivial. 

Bitter  questionings  filled  Ernestine's  heart  in  those 


158     THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

days.  How  was  she  going  to  watch  him  suffer  and 
not  hate  a  universe  permitting  his  sufferings?  How 
care  for  a  world  of  beauty  he  could  not  see?  How 
watch  his  heart  break  for  the  work  taken  from  him 
and  keep  her  belief  in  an  order  of  things  under  which 
that  was  enacted?  How  love  a  world  that  had  turned 
upon  him  like  that?  That  was  what  he  asked  her  to 
do.  It  seemed  to  her,  now,  impossible. 

With  him,  as  the  bearing  of  the  physical  pain 
grew  mechanical  and  the  other  things  grew  nearer, 
the  worst  of  it  was  wondering  what  he  should  do 
with  the  days  that  were  ahead.  His  spirit  would 
not  go  with  his  sight.  His  desire  to  do  was  not  to 
be  crushed  with  his  ability  for  doing.  What  then 
of  the  empty  days  to  come?  How  smother  the  pas 
sion  for  his  work?  And  if  he  did  smother  it,  what 
remained?  While  he  lived,  how  deafen  himself  to 
the  call  of  life?  Through  what  channel  could  he 
hope  to  work  out  the  things  that  were  in  him? 
And  how  remain  himself  if  -constantly  denying  to  him 
self  the  things  which  were  his?  It  was  that  tor 
mented  him  more  than  the  relinquishing  of  the 
specific  thing  he  had  believed  would  crown  the  work 
of  his  life.  His  fight  now  would  be  a  fight  for  cling 
ing  to  that  in  him  which  was  fundamental.  But  with 
what  weapon  should  he  fight? 

Many  times  he  failed  to  bear  it  in  conformity  with 
his  ideal  of  bearing  it.  There  were  hours  of  not 
bearing  it  at  all;  hours  of  cursing  his  fate  and 
damning  the  world.  Then  it  was  her  touch  upon  his 
hand,  her  tear  upon  his  cheek,  her  broken  word 


INTO   THE   DARK  159 

which  could  bring  him  again  into  the  sphere  of  what 
he  desired  to  be.  His  desire  to  help  her  in  bearing 
it,  his  thankfulness  in  having  her, — those  the  factors 
in  his  control. 

There  were  two  weeks  of  that :  weeks  in  which  two 
frightened,  baffled  souls  fought  for  strength  to  ac 
cept  and  power  to  readjust.  Their  failures,  the 
doubts,  the  rage,  they  sought  to  keep  from  each 
other;  their  hard  won  victories,  their  fought  for 
courage  they  gave  to  the  uttermost.  A  failure  of 
one  was  a  failure  for  one ;  but  a  victory  of  one  was  a 
victory  for  two.  It  was  through  that  method  cour 
age  succeeded  in  some  measure  in  holding  its  own 
against  bitter  abandonment  to  despair. 

His  last  looks  were  at  her  face.  It  was  that  he 
would  take  with  him  into  the  darkness.  As  a  man 
setting  sail  for  a  far  country  seeks  to  the  last  the 
face  upon  the  shore,  so  his  last  seeing  gaze  rested 
yearningly  upon  the  dear  face  that  was  to  pass  for 
ever  from  his  vision.  And  when  the  end  had  come, 
when  hungering  eyes  turned  to  the  face  they  could 
not  see,  and  he  knew  with  the  certainty  of  encoun 
tered  reality  that  he  would  never  again  see  the  love 
lights  in  her  eyes,  that  others  would  respond  to  the 
smile  that  was  gone  from  him  forever,  others  read 
in  her  face  the  things  from  which  he  was  shut  out, 
when  he  knew  he  would  never  again  watch  the  laugh 
ter  creep  into  her  eyes  and  the  firelight  play  upon 
her  hair,  it  came  upon  him  as  immeasurably  beyond 
all  power  to  endure,  and  in  that  hour  he  broke  down 
and  in  the  refuge  of  her  arms  gave  way  to  the  utter 


160  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

anguish  of  his  heart.  And  she,  all  of  her  soul  roused 
in  the  passion  to  comfort  him,  whispered  hotly,  the 
fierce  tenderness  of  the  defending  mother  in  her  voice : 
"You  shall  not  suffer!  You  shall  not!  I  will 
make  it  up  to  you !  £  will  make  it  right !  " 


PART  TWO, 

CHAPTER     XX 
MARRIAGE    AND    PAPER   BAGS 

IT  was  evident  that  peace  did  not  sit  enthroned 
in  Georgia's  soul.  Her  movements  were  not  calm 
and  self-contained  as  one  by  one  she  removed 
the   paper    bags    from    her    typewriter.      "  So 
silly!  " — she  sputtered  to  herself.     What  were  the 
men    in    this    office,    anyway?       College    freshmen? 
Hanging  paper  bags  all  over  her  things  every  time 
she  stepped  out  of  the  office — and  just  because  one 
of   her   friends   happened   to   be   in   the   paper   bag 
business!     She'd  like  to  know — as  she  pounded  out 
her  opening  sentence  with  vindictiveness — if  it  wasn't 
just  as  good  a  business  as  newspaper  reporting? 

It  was  not  a  good  day  for  teasing  Georgia.  She 
did  not  like  the  story  she  had  been  working  on  that 
morning.  "  Go  out  to  the  university,"  the  city  edi 
tor  had  said,  "  and  get  a  good  first-day-of-school 
story.  Make  the  feature  of  it  the  reorganisation  of 
Dr.  Hubers'  department,  and  use  some  human  interest 
stuff  about  his  old  laboratory — the  more  of  that  the 
better." 

She  hated  it!  Were  they  never  going  to  let  Karl 
alone?  Was  it  decent  to  put  his  own  cousin  on  the 
story?  Georgia's  chin  quivered  as  she  wrote  that 

161 


THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

part  about  Karl's  laboratory.  "  If  my  own  mother 
were  killed  in  the  street,"  she  told  herself,  trying  to 
blink  back  the  tears,  "  I  suppose  they'd  make  me 
handle  it  because  I  know  more  about  her  than  any 
one  else  in  the  office ! " 

Resentment  grew  with  the  turning  of  each  sen 
tence.  They  knew  that  Karl  was  her  cousin,  and  al 
most  as  close  to  her  as  her  own  brother.  She  was 
sure  they  had  seen  the  tear  stains  on  some  of  that 
maudlin  copy  she  had  handed  in  about  him.  When 
she  turned  in  her  story  she  was  unable  to  contain 
herself  longer. 

"  Mr.  Lewis,"  she  said,  voice  quivering,  "  here  is 
another  one  of  those  outrageous  stories  about  my 
cousin,  Dr.  Hubers.  When  you  ask  me  to  write  the 
next  one,  you  may  consider  it  an  invitation  for  my 
resignation."  And  then,  cheeks  very  red,  she  went 
back  to  her  desk  and  began  getting  up  some  stuff 
for  her  column  "  Just  Dogs,"  which  they  had  been 
running  on  the  editorial  page. 

When  the  city  editor  was  passing  her  desk  about 
half  an  hour  later  he  stopped  and  asked,  very  re 
spectfully  and  meekly — Georgia  was  far  too  good 
to  lose :  "  Miss  McCormick,  will  you  see  Dr.  Park- 
man  some  time  before  to-morrow,  and  ask  him  about 
this  hospital  story?  You  know,  Miss  McCormick, 
you're  the  only  reporter  in  town  he'll  see." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Georgia,  with  dignity. 

All  summer  long  the  papers  had  been  printing 
stories  about  Karl.  It  made  her  loathe  newspaper 
work  every  time  she  thought  about  it.  To  think 


MARRIAGE    AND    PAPER    BAGS        163 

of  their  hacking  at  him  like  that — and  he  so  quiet 
and  dignified  and  brave!  A  picture  printed  the 
Sunday  before,  of  Karl  fumbling  his  way  around, 
had  made  her  more  furious  than  she  had  ever  been 
in  all  her  life. 

She  turned  just  in  time  to  see  a  grinning  reporter 
writing  on  the  bulletin  board :    "  Miss  G.  McCormick 
—Human   interest  story   about  the  inner  life  of  a 
paper  bag." 

Sometimes  it  might  have  brought  a  smile,  usually 
it  would  have  fired  her  to  the  desired  rage,  but  to 
day  it  contributed  to  her  tearfulness.  "  Oh  they 
needn't  worry,"  she  murmured,  bending  her  head  over 
a  drawer,  and  tossing  things  about  furiously, 
"  there's  no  getting  married  for  me !  This  office  has 
settled  that!" 

The  city  editor  seemed  to  take  special  delight  in 
sending  her  out  on  every  story  which  would  "  give 
married  life  a  black  eye."  When  the  father  left  the 
little  children  destitute,  when  the  mother  ran  away 
with  the  other  man,  or  the  jealous  wife  shot  the 
other  woman,  Georgia  was  always  right  on  the  spot 
because  they  said  she  was  so  clever  at  that  sort  of 
thing.  "  Oh  it  makes  one  just  crazy  to  get  married," 
she  had  said,  withcringly,  to  Joe  one  night. 

Why  did  he  want  to  marry  her,  anyway?  When 
she  told  him  she  didn't  want  to — wasn't  that  enough? 
Was  it  respectful  to  treat  her  refusal  as  though  it 
were  a  subtle  kind  of  joke?  Various  nice  boys  had 
wanted  at  various  times  to  marry  her,  and  she  had 
always  explained  to  them  that  it  was  impossible,  and 


164  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

sent  them,  more  or  less  cheerfully,  on  their  various 
ways.  But  this  man  who  made  paper  bags,  this  jolly, 
good-natured,  seemingly  easy-going  fellow,  who  held 
that  the  most  important  thing  in  the  world  was  for 
her,  Georgia,  to  have  a  good  time,  only  seemed 
much  amused  at  the  idea  of  her  not  having  time  to 
marry  him,  and  when  she  told  him,  with  just  as  much 
conviction  as  she  had  ever  told  any  of  the  others, 
that  he  had  better  begin  looking  around  for  some 
one  else,  he  would  reply,  "  All  right — sure,"  and 
would  straightway  ask  where  she  wished  to  go  for 
dinner  that  night  or  whether  she  preferred  an  auto 
mobile  ride  to  a  spin  in  his  new  motor  boat.  Now 
what  was  one  to  do  with  a  man  like  that?  A  man 
who  laughed  at  refusals  and  mellowed  with  each  pass 
ing  snub! 

"  Telephone,  Miss  McCormick," — the  boy  sang 
out  from  the  booth.  The  opening  "  Hello  "  was 
very  short,  but  the  voice  changed  oddly  on  the  "  Oh, 
Ernestine."  Her  whole  face  softened.  It  was 
another  Georgia  now.  "  Why  certainly — I'll  get 
them  for  you ;  you  know  I  love  to  do  things  for  you 
down  town,  but  my  dear — what  in  the  world  do  you 
want  with  flower  seeds  this  time  of  year?" — "Oh 
• — I  see;  planted  in  the  fall — but  the  flowers  that 
bloom  in  the  spring — tra  la." 

They  chatted  for  a  little  while  and  after  Georgia 
had  hung  up  the  receiver  she  sat  there  looking 
straight  into  the  phone — her  face  as  dreamy  as 
Georgia's  freckled  face  well  could  be.  "  By  Jinks  " 
— she  was  saying  to  herself — "  it  can  be  like  that !  " 


MARRIAGE    AND    PAPER    BAGS        165 

It  was  a  most  opportune  time  for  the  paper  bag 
man  to  telephone.  He  wondered  why  her  voice  was  so 
soft,  and  why  there  was  not  the  usual  plea  about 
being  too  busy  when  he  asked  her  to  meet  him  at 
the  little  Japanese  place  for  a  cup  of  tea.  "  And 
it's  positively  heroic  of  Joe  to  drink  that  tea,"  she 
smiled  to  herself,  as  she  wrestled  with  her  shirt 
waist  sleeves  and  her  jacket. 

But  out  on  the  street  she  grew  stern  with  herself. 
"  Now  don't  go  and  do  any  fool  thing,"  she  ad 
monished.  "  Don't  jump  at  conclusions.  You  aren't 
Ernestine,  and  he  isn't  Karl.  He's  Joseph  Tank — 
of  all  abominable  names !  And  he  makes  paper  bags 
— of  all  ridiculous  things  !  Tank's  Paper  Bags !  " 
she  guessed  not!  Suppose  in  some  rash  moment  she 
did  marry  him.  People  would  say :  "  What  busi 
ness  is  your  husband  in?"  And  she  would  choke 
down  her  rage  and  reply — "  Why — why  he  makes 
paper  bags ! " 

He  was  sitting  there  waiting  for  her,  smiling. 
He  was  awfully  good  about  waiting  for  her,  and 
about  smiling.  It  was  nice  to  sit  down  in  this  cool, 
restful  place  and  be  looked  after.  He  had  a  book 
which  she  had  spoken  about  the  week  before,  and  he 
had  a  little  pin,  a  dear  little  thing  with  a  dog's  head 
on  it  which  he  had  seen  in  a  window  and  thought 
should  belong  to  her.  And  he  was  on  track  of  the 
finest  collie  in  the  United  States.  After  all,  he 
thought  it  would  be  better  for  her  to  have  a  collie 
than  a  bulldog.  She  was  losing  ground !  She  was 
being  very  nice  to  him,  and  she  had  firmly  intended 


166    THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

telling  him  once  for  all  that  she  could  never  marry 
a  man  whose  name  was  Tank,  and  who  contributed 
to  the  atrocities  of  fate  by  making  paper  bags. 
And  then  she  had  a  beautiful  thought.  Perhaps  he 
would  be  willing  to  go  away  somewhere  and  live  it 
down.  He  might  go  to  Boston  and  go  into  the 
book  publishing  business.  Surely  publishing  books 
in  Boston  would  go  a  long  way  toward  removing 
the  stigma  of  having  made  paper  bags  in  Chicago. 
And  meanwhile,  sighing  contentedly,  and  fastening 
on  her  new  pin,  as  long  as  she  was  here  she  might 
as  well  forget  about  things  and  enjoy  herself. 


CHAPTER    XXI 

FACTORY-MADE    OPTIMISM 

THE  usual  congested  conditions  existed  in 
Dr.  Parkman's  waiting  room  when  Georgia 
arrived  a  little  after  five.  An  attendant 
who  knew  her,  and  who  had  great  respect 
for  any  girl  Dr.  Parkman  would  see  on  non-profes 
sional  business,  took  her  into  the  inner  of  inners, 
where,  comfortably  installed,  sat  Professor  Hastings. 

"Glad  to  have  you  join  me,"  he  said;  "I  feel 
like  an  imposter,  getting  in  ahead  of  these  people." 

"  Oh,  I'm  used  to  side  doors,"  laughed  Georgia. 

They  chatted  about  how  it  had  begun  to  rain, 
how  easy  it  was  for  it  to  rain  in  Chicago,  and  in 
a  few  minutes  the  doctor  came  in. 

He  nodded  to  them,  almost  staggered  to  a  chair, 
sank  into  it,  and  leaning  back,  said  nothing  at  all. 

"  Why,  doctor,"  gasped  Georgia,  after  a  minute, 
"  can't  you  take  something?  Why  you're  simply 
all  in !  " 

He  roused  up  then.  "  I  am — a — little  fagged. 
Fearful  day!" 

"  Well,  for  heaven's  sake  get  up  and  take  off  that 
wet  coat !  Here," — rising  to  help  him — "  I've  al 
ways  heard  that  doctors  had  absolutely  no  sense. 
Sitting  around  in  a  wet  coat !  " 

"  I  wonder,"  he  said,  after  another  minute  of  rest- 
167 


168  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

ing,  "  why  any  man  ever  takes  it  into  his  head  he 
wants  to  be  a  doctor?  " 

"And  all  day  long,"  she  laughed,  "I've  been 
wondering  why  any  girl  ever  takes  it  into  her  head 
she  wants  to  be  a  newspaper  reporter." 

"  Speaking  of  the  pleasant  features  of  my  busi 
ness,"  she  went  on,  "  I  may  as  well  spring  this  first 
as  last.  Here  am  I,  a  more  or  less  sensible  young 
woman,  come  to  ask  you,  a  man  whose  time  is  worth 
— well,  let's  say  a  thousand  dollars  a  second — what 
you  intend  doing  about  those  hospital  internes  get 
ting  drunk  last  night !  " 

"  My  dear  Miss  Georgia," — brushing  out  his  hand 
in  a  characteristic  way  which  seemed  to  be  sweeping 
things  aside — "  go  back  to  your  paper  and  say  that 
for  all  I  care  every  interne  in  Chicago  may  get 
drunk  every  night  in  the  week." 

"  Bully  story !  " 

"  And  furthermore,  every  paper  in  Chicago  may 
go  to  the  devil,  and  every  hospital  may  go  trailing 
along  for  company.  Oh  Lord — I'm  tired." 

He  looked  it.  It  seemed  to  Georgia  she  had  never 
understood  what  tiredness  meant  before. 

"  Such  a  hard  day?  "     Professor  Hastings  asked. 

«  Oh — just  one  of  the  days  when  everything  goes 
wrong.  Rotten  business — anyway.  Eternally  patch 
ing  things  up.  I'd  like  to  be  a — well,  a  bridge 
builder  for  awhile,  and  see  how  it  felt  to  get  good 
stuff  to  start  with." 

"  And  now,  to  round  out  your  day  pleasantly," 
laughed  Professor  Hastings,  "  I've  come  to  tell  you 


FACTORY-MADE    OPTIMISM          169 

about  a  boy  out  there  at  the  university  who  is  in 
very  bad  need  of  patching  up." 

"  What  about  him?  "  and  it  was  interesting  to  see 
that  some  of  the  tiredness  seemed  to  fall  from  him 
as  he  straightened  up  to  listen. 

Georgia  rose  to  go,  but  he  told  her  to  stay,  he 
might  feel  more  in  the  mood  for  drunken  internes 
by  and  by. 

He  arranged  with  Professor  Hastings  about  the 
student;  and  it  was  when  the  older  man  was  about 
to  leave  that  he  asked,  a  little  hesitatingly,  about  Dr. 
Hubers.  "  I  have  been  away  all  summer,"  he  told 
the  doctor,  "  and  have  not  seen  him  yet." 

Georgia  was  watching  Dr.  Parkman.  His  face 
just  then  told  many  things. 

"  You  will  find  him — quite  natural,"  he  answered, 
in  a  constrained  voice. 

"  One  hardly  sees  how  that  can  be  possible,"  said 
the  professor  sadly. 

"  Oh,  his  pleasantness  and  naturalness  will  not 
deceive  you  much.  Your  eyes  can  take  in  a  few 
things,  and  then  his  voice — gives  him  away  a  little. 
But  he  won't  have  anything  to  say  about — the 
change." 

He  shook  his  head.  "  I'm  afraid  that's  so  much 
the  worse." 

"  Perhaps,  but- 

"  Karl  never  was  one  to  get  much  satisfaction  out 
of  telling  his  troubles,"  Georgia  finished  for  him. 

"Hastings,"  said  the  doctor,  jerkily,  and  he 
seemed  almost  like  one  speaking  against  his  will— 


170  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

"  what  do  you  make  out  of  it  ?  Don't  you  think  it 
• — pretty  wasteful?  " 

"  Yes — wasteful !  "  he  went  on,  in  response  to  the 
inquiring  look.  "  I  mean  just  that.  There  are  a 
lot  of  people,"  he  spoke  passionately  now,  "  who  seem 
to  think  there  is  some  sort  of  great  design  in  the 
world.  What  in  heaven's  name  would  they  say  about 
this?  Do  you  see  anything  high  and  fine  and  har 
monious  about  it  ?  " 

That  last  with  a  sneer,  and  he  stopped  with  an 
ugly  laugh.  "  They  make  me  tired — those  people 
who  have  so  much  to  say  about  the  world  being  so 
right  and  lovely.  They  might  travel  with  me  on  my 
rounds  for  a  day  or  two.  One  day  would  finish  a 
good  deal  of  this  factory-made  optimism." 

"  Does  Dr.  Hubers  feel — as  you  do  ?  "  Hastings 
asked,  not  quite  concealing  the  anxiety  in  the  ques 
tion. 

"  How  in  God's  name  could  he  feel  any  other  way? 
— though  it's  hard  making  him  out," — turning  to 
Georgia,  who  nodded  understandingly.  "  Just  when 
he's  ready  to  let  himself  go  he'll  pull  himself  to 
gether  and  say  it's  so  nice  to  have  plenty  of  time 
for  reading,  that  Ernestine  has  been  reading  a  lot 
of  great  things  to  him  this  summer,  and  he  believes 
now  he  is  really  going  to  begin  to  get  an  education. 
But  does  that  make  you  feel  any  better  about  it? 
God ! — I  was  out  there  the  other  day,  and  when  I  saw 
the  grey  hairs  in  his  head,  the  lines  this  summer  has 
put  in  his  face,  when  I  saw  he  was  digging  his  finger 
nails  down  into  his  hands  to  keep  himself  together 


FACTORY-MADE    OPTIMISM          171 

while  he  talked  to  me  about  turning  his  cancer  work 
over  to  some  other  man — I  tell  you  it  went  just  a 
little  beyond  my  power  to  endure,  and  I  turned  in 
then  and  there  and  expressed  my  opinion  of  a  God 
who  would  permit  such  things  to  happen !  And  then 
what  did  he  do?  Got  a  little  white  around  the  lips 
for  a  minute,  looked  for  just  a  second  as  though  he 
were  going  to  turn  in  with  me,  and  then  he  smiled  a 
little  and  said  in  a  quiet,  rather  humorous  way  that 
made  me  feel  about  ten  years  old :  '  Oh,  leave  God 
out  of  it,  Parkman.  I  don't  think  he  had  much  of 
a  hand  in  this  piece  of  work.  If  you  must  damn 
something,  damn  my  own  carelessness.'  " 

"  He  said  that?  He  can  see  it  like  that?  "—there 
was  no  mistaking  the  approval  in  Professor  Hastings' 
eager  voice. 

"  Huh !  "  —the  doctor  was  feeling  too  deeply  to 
be  conscious  of  the  rudeness  in  the  scoff.  "  So  you 
figure  it  out  like  that — do  you?  And  you  get  some 
satisfaction  out  of  that  way  of  looking  at  it?  The 
scheme  of  things  is  very  fine,  but  he  must  pay  the 
penalty  of  his  own  oversight,  weakness — carelessness 
—whatever  you  choose  to  call  it.  Well,  I  don't  think 
I  care  much  about  a  system  that  fixes  its  penalties 
in  that  particular  way.  When  I  see  men  every  day 
who  violate  every  natural  law  and  don't  pay  any 
heavier  penalty  than  an  inconvenience,  when  I  see 
useless  pieces  of  flesh  and  bone  slapping  nature  in 
the  face  and  not  getting  more  than  a  mild  little 
slap  in  return,  and  then  when  I  see  the  biggest, 
most  useful  man  I  have  ever  known  paying  as  a 


172  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

penalty  his  life's  work — oh  Lord — that's  rot !  I  have 
some  hymn  singing  ancestors  myself,  and  they  left 
me  a  tendency  to  want  to  believe  in  something  or 
other,  so  I  had  fine  notions  about  the  economy  of 
nature — poetry  of  science.  But  this  makes  rather 
a  joke  of  that,  too — don't  you  think?  "  He  paused, 
and  Georgia  could  see  the  hot  beating  in  his  temples 
and  his  throat.  And  then  he  added,  with  a  quiet 
more  unanswerable  than  the  passion  had  been :  "  So 
the  beautiful  thing  about  having  no  gods  at  all  is 
that  you're  so  fixed  you  have  no  gods  to  lose." 

The  telephone  rang  then,  and  there  was  a  sharp 
fire  of  questions  ending  with,  "Yes — I'll  see  her  be 
fore  nine  to-night."  He  hung  up  the  receiver  and 
sat  there  a  minute  in  deep  thought,  seeming  to  con 
centrate  his  whole  being  upon  this  patient  now 
commanding  him.  And  then  he  turned  to  Hastings 
with  something  about  the  boy  out  at  the  university, 
telling  him  at  the  last  not  to  worry  about  the  finan 
cial  end  of  it,  that  he  liked  to  do  things  for  students 
who  amounted  to  something. 

Professor  Hastings  was  smiling  a  little  as  he 
walked  down  the  corridor.  He  wondered  why  Dr. 
Parkman  cared  anything  about  slaving  for  so  sense 
less  and  unsatisfying  a  world. 

He  loved  the  doctor  for  his  inconsistencies. 


CHAPTER    XXII 

A    BLIND    MAN'S   TWILIGHT 

"T"^%  EADY?" 

L^      "All  ready." 

^^   "  Then,  one — two — three — we're  off ! " 

A  laugh  and  a  scamper  and  one  grand 
rush  down  to  the  back  fence.  "  You  go  too  fast,"  she 
laughed,  gasping  for  breath. 

"  And  you're  not   steady.      You   jerk." 

"  But  this  was  a  fine  straight  row.  I  can  steer 
it  just  right  when  you  don't  push  too  hard.  Now — 
back." 

They  always  had  a  great  deal  of  fun  cutting  the 
grass.  Ernestine  used  to  wish  the  grass  had  to  be 
cut  every  day. 

But  Karl  did  not  seem  to  be  enjoying  it  as  much 
as  usual  to-day.  "  I'm  going  to  desert  you,"  he 
said,  after  a  little  while. 

"  Lazy  man !  " 

"  Yes — lazy  good  for  nothing  man — leaves  all  the 
work  for  his  wife." 

She  looked  at  him  sharply.  His  voice  sounded  very 
tired.  "  I'll  be  in  in  just  a  few  minutes,  dear,"  she 
said. 

She  did  not  go  with  him.  She  knew  Karl  liked 
to  find  his  own  way  just  as  much  as  he  could.  She 

173 


174     THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

understood  far  too  well  to  do  any  unnecessary 
"  helping." 

But  she  stood  there  and  looked  after  him — watched 
him  with  deep  pain  in  her  eyes.  He  stooped  a  little, 
and  of  course  he  walked  slowly,  and  uncertainly. 
All  that  happy  spring  and  assurance  had  gone  from 
his  walk. 

She  walked  down  to  the  rear  of  the  yard,  stood 
there  leaning  against  the  back  fence.  She  had 
dropped  more  than  one  tear  over  that  back  fence. 

She  too  had  lost  something  during  the  summer. 
Struggle  had  sapped  up  some  of  the  wine  of  youth. 
Her  face  was  thinner,  but  that  was  not  the  vital 
difference.  The  real  change  lay  in  the  determination 
with  which  she  had  learned  to  set  her  jaw,  the  de 
fiance  with  which  she  held  her  head,  and  the  wistful- 
ness,  the  pleading,  with  which  her  eyes  seemed  to 
be  looking  out  into  the  future.  The  combination  of 
things  about  her  was  a  strange  one. 

She  looked  to  the  west;  the  sun  was  low,  the 
clouds  very  beautiful.  For  the  minute  she  seemed 
to  relax ; — beauty  always  rested  her.  And  then,  with 
a  sharp  closing  of  her  eyes,  a  bitter  little  shake  of 
her  head,  she  turned  away.  She  could  not  look  at 
beautiful  things  now  without  the  consciousness  that 
Karl  could  not  see  them. 

They  always  sat  together  in  the  library  that  hour 
before  dinner — "  our  hour  "  they  had  come  to  call 
it.  She  wondered,  with  a  hot  rush  of  tears,  if  they 
did  not  care  for  it  because  it  marked  the  close  of 
another  day.  She  turned  to  the  house,  kicking  the 


A    BLIND    MAN'S    TWILIGHT         175 

newly  cut  grass  with  her  foot,  walking  slowly.  She 
was  waiting  for  something — fighting  for  it.  Karl 
needed  her  to-night,  needed  courage  and  cheer. 

She  came  so  quietly,  or  else  he  was  so  deep  in 
thought,  that  he  did  not  hear  her.  For  a  minute  she 
stood  there  in  the  library  door. 

He  was  sitting  in  his  Morris  chair,  his  hands  upon 
the  arms  of  it,  his  head  leaning  back.  His  eyes  were 
closed,  one  could  not  tell  in  that  moment  that  he  was 
blind,  but  it  was  more  than  the  dimness,  the  blankness 
in  his  eyes,  more  than  scarred  eyeballs,  made  for  the 
change  in  Karl's  face.  He  and  life  did  not  dwell 
together  as  they  had  once ;  a  freedom  and  a  gladness 
and  a  sureness  had  gone.  The  loss  of  those  things 
meant  the  loss  of  something  fundamentally  Karl. 
And  the  sadness — and  the  longing — and  the  marks 
of  struggle  which  the  light  of  courage  could  not 
hide! 

She  choked  a  little,  and  he  heard  her,  and  held  out 
his  hand,  with  a  smile.  It  was  the  smile  which  came 
closest  to  bridging  the  change.  He  was  very  close 
to  being  Karl  when  he  smiled  at  her  like  that. 

She  sat  down  on  the  low  scat  beside  him,  as  was 
their  fashion.  "  Lazy  man," — brushing  his  hand 
tenderly  with  her  lips — "  wouldn't  help  his  wife  cut 
the  grass ! " 

She  wondered,  as  they  sat  there  in  silence,  how 
many  lovers  had  loved  that  hour.  It  seemed  mel 
lowed  with  the  dreams  it  had  held  from  the  first  of 
time.  Ever  since  the  world  was  very  young,  -children 
of  love  had  crept  into  the  twilight  hour  and  claimed 


176    THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

it  as  their  own.  Perhaps  the  lovers  of  to-day  love  it 
because  unto  it  has  been  committed  the  soul  of  all 
love's  yesterdays. 

She  and  Karl  had  loved  it  from  the  very  first:  in 
those  days  when  they  were  upon  the  sea,  those  su 
preme  days  of  uncomprehended  happiness.  They  sat 
in  the  twilight  then  and  watched  day  withdraw  and 
night  spread  itself  over  the  waters.  They  loved  the 
mystery  of  it,  for  it  was  one  with  the  mystery  of 
their  love;  they  loved  it  for  reasons  to  be  told  only 
in  great  silences,  knowing  unreasoningly,  that  they 
were  most  close  together  then. 

And  after  that  they  came  to  love  the  twilight  for 
the  things  it  bequeathed  them.  "  Don't  you  remem 
ber,"  he  would  say,  "  we  left  it  just  as  the  sun 
was  setting.  Aren't  you  glad  we  can  remember  it 
so  ?  "  It  was  as  if  their  love  could  take  unto  itself 
most  readily  that  which  came  to  it  in  the  mystic  hour 
of  closing  day. 

And  when  they  returned,  during  that  first  year  of 
joy  in  their  work,  they  loved  the  hour  of  transition 
as  an  hour  of  rest.  Their  day's  work  was  done ;  in  the 
evening  they  would  study  or  read  or  in  some  way 
occupy  themselves,  but  because  they  had  worked  all 
through  the  day  they  could  rest  for  a  short  time  in 
the  twilight.  And  they  would  tell  of  what  they  had 
done;  of  what  they  hoped  to  do;  if  there  had  been 
discouragements  they  would  tell  of  them,  and  with 
the  telling  they  would  draw  away.  In  the  light  of 
closing  day  the  future's  picture  was  unblurred.  They 
loved  their  hour  then  as  true  workers  love  it ;  it  was 


A    BLIND    MAN'S    TWILIGHT         177 

good  to  sink  with  the  day  to  the  half  lights  of  rest 
and  peace. 

Now  it  was  all  different,  but  they  clung  to  their 
love  for  it  still.  Through  the  heart  of  the  day, 
during  those  hours  which  from  his  early  boyhood 
had  been  to  him  working  hours,  this  removal  from 
life  brought  to  the  man  a  poignancy  of  realisation 
which  beat  with  undiminishing  force  against  the 
wall  of  his  endurance.  It  was  when  he  finished  his 
breakfast  and  the  day's  work  would  naturally  begin 
that  it  came  home  to  him  the  hardest.  They  would 
go  into  the  library,  and  Ernestine  would  read  to  him 
• — how  she  delved  into  the  whole  storehouse  of  litera 
ture  for  things  to  hold  him  best — and  how  great  her 
joy  when  she  found  something  to  make  the  day 
pass  a  little  less  hard  than  was  the  day's  wont !  He 
would  listen  to  her,  loving  her  voice,  and  trying  to 
bring  his  mind  to  what  she  read,  but  all  the  while 
his  thoughts  reaching  out  to  what  he  would  be  doing 
if  his  life  as  worker  were  not  blotted  out.  The  call 
of  his  work  tormented  him  all  through  the  day,  and 
the  twilight  was  the  time  most  bearable  because  it 
was  an  hour  which  had  never  been  filled  with 
the  things  of  his  work.  In  that  short  hour  he  some 
times,  in  slight  measure  found,  if  not  peace,  cessa 
tion  from  struggle.  "  This  is  what  I  would  be  doing 
now,"  he  told  himself,  and  with  that,  when  the  day 
had  not  drawn  too  heavily  upon  him,  he  could  rest 
a  little,  perhaps,  in  some  rare  moments,  almost 
forget. 

But  to-night   the  spell  of  the  hour  was  passing 


178  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

him  by.  Ernestine  saw  that  in  the  restless  way  his 
hand  moved  away  from  hers,  the  nervous  little  cough, 
the  fretted  shaking  of  the  head.  She  understood  why 
it  was ;  the  fall  quarter  at  the  university  opened  that 
day.  It  would  have  marked  the  beginning  of  his 
new  year's  work.  Very  quietly  she  wiped  the  tears 
from  her  cheek.  She  tried  never  to  let  Karl  know 
that  they  were  there. 

His  head  had  fallen  to  his  hand,  and  she  moved 
closer  to  him  and  laid  her  face  against  the  sleeve 
of  his  coat.  She  did  not  say  anything,  she  did  not 
touch  him,  or  wind  her  arm,  as  she  loved  to  do, 
about  his  neck.  She  had  come  to  understand  so  well, 
and  perhaps  the  greatest  triumph  of  her  love  was  in 
knowing  when  to  say  nothing  at  all. 

At  last  he  raised  his  head.  His  voice,  like  his 
face,  was  tensely  drawn.  "  Ernestine,  don't  bother 
to  stay.  Probably  you  want  to  be  seeing  about  din 
ner,  and  I — I  don't  feel  like  talking." 

That  too  she  understood.  She  only  laid  her  hand 
for  the  moment  upon  his  hair.  Then :  "  Call  me, 
dear,  if  you  want  me,"  and  she  slipped  away,  and  in 
a  little  nook  under  the  stairs  sat  looking  out  into 
their  strange  future  with  wondering,  beseeching  eyes 
— seeking  passionately  better  resources,  a  more  sus 
taining  strength. 

Left  alone  the  man  sat  very  still,  his  hands  hold 
ing  tight  the  arm  of  the  chair.  The  tide  of  despair 
was  coming  in,  was  washing  over  the  sands  of  resig 
nation,  beating  against  the  rocks  of  courage.  Many 
times  before  it  had  come  in,  but  there  was  something 


A    BLIND    MAN'S    TWILIGHT         179 

overwhelming  in  its  volume  to-night.  It  beat  hard 
against  the  rocks.  Was  it  within  its  power  to  loosen 
and  carry  them  away?  Carry  them  out  with  itself 
to  be  gone  for  all  time? 

He  rose  and  felt  his  way  to  the  window.  He 
pressed  his  hot  forehead  against  the  pane.  Outside 
was  the  dying  light  of  day,  but  the  glare  of  noonday, 
the  quiet  light  of  evening,  the  black  of  the  night, 
were  all  one  to  him  now.  Was  it  going  to  be  so  with 
his  mind,  his  spirit?  Would  all  that  other  light, 
light  of  the  mind  and  soul,  be  gulped  into  this  black 
monotone,  this  nothingness? 

He  had  heard  of  the  beautiful  spirit  of  the  blind, 
of  the  mastery  of  fate  achieved,  the  things  they  were 
able,  in  spite  of  it  all,  to  gain  from  life.     Ernestine 
had  read  him  some  of  that ;  he  had  been  glad  to  hear 
it,  but  it  had  not  moved  him  much.     Most  of  those 
people  had  been  blind  for  a  long  time.     He  too,  in 
the  course  of  ten   or  twenty   years,  when  the  best 
of  his  life  was  gone,  would  become  accustomed  to 
groping  his   way  about,  reading  from  those  books, 
and  having  other  people  tell  him  how  things  looked. 
But  so  long  as  he  remained  himself  at  all  how  accus 
tom  himself  to  doing  without  his  work?     In  the  rec 
ords  and  stories  of  the  blind,  it  seemed  if  they  had  a 
work  it  was   something  which  they   could  continue. 
But  with  him,  the  work  which  made  his  life  was  gone. 
Over   there   was   the   university.      It   had   been   a 
busy    day    at    the    university — old    faces    and   new 
faces,  all  the  exuberance  of  a  new  start,  the  enthusiasm 
for  a  clean   slate — students   anxious  to   make  some 


180  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

particular  class — how  well  he  knew  it  all!  Who 
was  in  his  laboratory?  Who  working  with  his  old 
things?  To  whom  was  coming  the  joy  he  had 
thought  would  be  his?  What  man  of  all  the  world's 
men  would  achieve  the  things  he  had  believed  would 
crown  his  own  life? 

Some  day  Ernestine  would  read  it  to  him.  He 
had  made  her  promise  to  do  that,  if  it  came.  He 
would  see  it  all — just  how  it  had  been  worked  out, 
and  the  momentary  joy  of  the  revelation  would 
sweep  him  back  into  it  and  he  would  forget  how 
completely  it  was  a  thing  apart  from  him.  And  then 
Ernestine  would  ask  him  if  he  wanted  his  chair  a 
little  higher  or  lower,  or  whether  she  should  shut 
the  window;  and  he  would  pick  up  one  of  his  em 
bossed  books  and  try  to  read  something,  and  he 
would  know,  as  he  had  never  known  before,  how  the 
great  world  which  did  things  was  going  right  on 
without  him. 

There  were  a  few  little  petitions  he  sent  out  every 
once  in  a  while.  "  I  want  to  remain  a  man !  I  want 
to  keep  my  nerve.  I  don't  want  to  whine.  I  don't 
want  to  get  sorry  for  myself.  For  God's  sake  help 
me  to  be  a  good  fellow — a  half  way  decent  sort  of 
chap!" 

And  he  had  not  tried  in  vain.  His  success,  as  to 
exteriors,  had  been  good.  Mrs.  McCormick  said  it 
was  indeed  surprising  how  well  one  could  get  along 
without  one's  sight. 

But  within  himself  he  had  not  gone  far.  Ernestine 
knew  something  of  that — though  he  had  tried  his 


A    BLIND    MAN'S    TWILIGHT         181 

best  with  Ernestine,  and  Parkman  knew,  for  Park- 
man  had  a  way  of  knowing  everything. 

And  yet  they  did  not  know  it  all.  The  waking  up 
in  the  night  and  knowing  it  would  not  be  any  more 
light  in  the  morning !  Hearing  the  clock  strike  four 
or  five,  and  thinking  that  in  a  little  while  he  would  be 
getting  up  and  going  to  work,  only  to  remember  he 
would  never  be  going  to  work  in  that  old  way  again ! 
The  waking  in  the  morning  feeling  like  his  old  self, 
strength  within  him,  his  mind  beseeching  him  to 
start  in !  No  man  had  ever  suffered  with  the  craving 
for  strong  drink  as  he  suffered  for  the  work  taken 
from  him. 

He  had,  by  what  grit  he  could  summon,  gone 
along  for  five  months.  But  ahead  were  five  years, 
ten  years,  thirty  years,  perhaps,  and  what  of  them? 
Each  day  was  a  struggle;  the  living  of  each  day  a 
triumph.  Through  thousands  of  days  should  it  be 
the  same? 

It  was  the  future  which  took  hold  of  him  then- 
smothered  him.  He  went  down  before  the  vision  of 
those  unlived  days,  the  grim  vision  of  those  relent 
less,  inevitable  days,  standing  there  waiting  to  be 
lived.  It  was  desolation.  The  surrender  of  a  strong 
man  who  had  tried  to  the  uttermost. 

Whether  it  was  because  he  upset  a  chair,  whether 
she  heard  him  groan,  or  whether  she  just  knew  in 
that  way  of  hers  that  it  was  time  for  her  to  be  there, 
he  did  not  know.  But  he  felt  her  at  the  door,  and 
held  out  beseeching  arms. 

He  crushed  her  to  him  very  close.     He  wanted  to 


188  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  €ONQUEREDV 

bring  her  more  close  than  she  had  ever  come  before. 
For  he  needed  her  as  he  had  not  needed  her  until  this 
hour.  "  Ernestine !  Ernestine !  " — the  sob  in  his 
voice  was  not  to  be  denied — "  What  am  I  going 
to  do?" 

"  Karl," — after  her  moment  of  passionate  silence 
— "tell  me  this.  Doesn't  it  get  any  better?  One 
bit  easier?  " 

"  No  !  " — that  would  have  no  denying ;  and  then : 
"  Oh  but  I'm  the  brute  to  talk  to  you  like  this,  after 
you've  been  " — again  he  swept  her  into  his  arms — 
"  what  you  have  been  to  me  this  summer." 

She  guided  him  to  a  chair  and  knelt  beside  him. 
She  held  his  hand  for  a  minute  as  the  mother  holds 
the  hand  of  the  child  in  pain.  And  then  she  began, 
her  voice  tender,  but  quietly  determined :  "  Karl 
dear — let's  be  honest.  Let's  not  do  so  much  pre 
tending  with  each  other.  For  just  this  once  let's 
look  it  right  in  the  face.  I  want  to  understand — 
oh  how  I  want  to !  What's  the  very  worst  of  it,  dear? 
Is  it— the  work?" 

"  Yes !  " — the  word  leaped  out  as  though  let  loose 
from  a  long  bondage.  "  Ernestine — no  one  but  a 
man  can  quite  see  that.  What  is  a  man  without  a 
man's  work?  What  is  there  for  him  to  do  but  sit 
around  in  namby-pamby  fashion  and  be  fussed  over 
and  coddled  and  cheered  up !  Lord" — he  threw  away 
her  hands  and  turned  his  face  from  her — "  I'd  rather 
be  dead!" 

Her  utter  silence  recalled  him  to  a  sense  of  how 
she  must  be  hurt.  Could  he  have  looked  into  her 


A   BLIND   MAN'S    TWILIGHT        183 

eyes  just  then  he  would  never  have  ceased  to  regret 
those  words. 

There  was  contrition  in  his  face  as  he  turned  back. 
He  reached  out  for  her  hands — those  faithful,  loving 
hands  he  had  thrust  away.  For  just  a  minute  she 
did  not  give  them,  but  that  was  only  for  the  minute — 
so  quick  was  she  to  forgive,  so  eager  to  understand. 

"  Forget  that,  sweetheart — quick.  I  didn't  know 
what  I  was  saying.  Why,  liebchen — it's  only  you 
makes  it  bearable  at  all.  If  I  did  not  have  you  I 
should — choose  the  other  way." 

"  Karl !  "  —in  an  instant  clinging  to  him  wildly — 
"  you  hadn't  thought — you  couldn't  think — " 

"  Oh,  sweetheart — you've  misunderstood.  Now, 
dearie —  don't — don't  make  me  feel  I've  made  you 
cry.  All  I  meant,  Ernestine,  was  that  without  you 
it  would  be  so  utterly  unbearable." 

He  stroked  her  hair  until  she  was  quiet.  "  Why, 
liebchen — do  you  think  anything  under  heaven  could 
be  so  bad  that  I  should  want  to  leave  you?  " 

"  I  should  hope  I  had  not  failed — quite  that  com 
pletely,"  she  whispered  brokenly. 

"  Failed? — You?  Come  up  here  a  little  closer  and 
I'll  try  to  tell  you  just  how  far  you've  come  from 
having  failed." 

At  first  he  could  tell  her  best  in  the  passionate 
kiss,  the  gentle  stroking  of  her  face,  the  tenderness 
with  which  his  hands  rested  upon  her  eyes.  And 
then  words  added  a  little.  "  Everything,  liebchen ; 
everything  of  joy  and  comfort  and  beauty  and  light 
— light,  sweetheart — everything  of  light  and  hope 


184     THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

and  consolation  that  comes  to  me  now  is  through 
you.  You've  done  more  than  I  would  have  believed 
in  human  power.  You  have  actually  made  me  forget, 
and  can  you  fancy  how  supreme  a  thing  it  is  to 
make  a  man  forget  that  he  is  blind?  You've  put 
the  beautiful  things  before  me  in  their  most  beauti 
ful  way.  Do  you  suppose  that  alone,  or  with  any 
one  else,  I  could  see  any  beauty  in  anything?  You've 
made  me  laugh!  How  did  you  ever  do  that — you 
wonderful  little  Ernestine?  And,  sweetheart,  you've 
helped  me  with  my  self-respect.  You've  saved  me  in 
a  thousand  little  ways  from  the  humiliations  of 
being  blind.  Why  you  actually  must  have  some  idea 
of  what  it  is  like  yourself !  " 

"  I  have,  Karl.  I  have  imagined  and  thought  about 
it  and  tried  to — well,  just  trained  myself,  until  I 
believe  I  do  know  something  of  what  it  is  like." 

"  You  love  me !  "  he  murmured,  carried  with  that 
from  despair  to  exultation. 

"  But  if  you  could  only  know  how  much." 

"  I  do  know.  I  do  know,  dear.  I  wish  that  all  the 
world — I'd  hate  to  have  them  know,  for  it's  just 
ours — but  for  the  sake  of  faltering  faith  they  ought 
to  know  what  you've  been  to  me  this  summer." 

"  Then,  Karl," — this  after  one  of  their  precious 
silences — "  I  want  to  ask  you  something.  It  is  hard 
to  say  it  just  right,  but  I'll  try.  You  know  that 
I  love  you — that  we  have  one  of  those  supreme  loves 
which  come  at  rare  times — perhaps  for  the  sake  of 
what  you  call  faltering  faith.  But,  Karl — this  will 
sound  hard — but  after  all,  doesn't  it  fail?  Fail  of 


A    BLIND    MAN'S    TWILIGHT         185 

being  supreme?  Doesn't  it  fail  if  it  is  not — satisfy 
ing?  I  don't  mean  that  it  should  make  up  to  one 
for  such  a  thing  as  being  blind,  but  if  in  spite  of  love 
like  ours  life  seems  unbearable  to  you  without  your 
work — why  then,  dear,  doesn't  it  fail  ?  " 

He  was  long  in  answering,  and  then  he  only  said, 
slowly :  "  I  see.  I  see  how  you  have  reasoned  it 
out.  I  wonder  if  I  can  make  you  understand?  " 

"  Ernestine," — the  old  enthusiasm  had  kindled  in 
his  face  with  the  summoning  of  the  thoughts — "  no 
painter  or  sculptor  ever  loved  his  work  more  than  I 
loved  mine.  And  I  had  that  same  kind  of  joy  in 
it ;  that  delight  in  it  as  a  beautiful  thing  to  achieve. 
That  may  seem  strange  to  you.  But  the  working 
out  of  something  I  was  able  to  do  brought  me  the 
same  delight  the  working  out  of  a  picture  brings 
to  you.  Dear,  it  was  my  very  soul.  And  so,  in 
stead  of  there  being  two  forces  in  my  life  after  I 
had  you,  it  was  just  the  one  big  thing.  You  made  me 
bigger  and  because  I  was  bigger  I  wanted  to  do 
bigger  things.  Don't  you  see  that?  " 

She  held  his  hand  a  little  more  closely  in  response. 
He  knew  that  she  understood. 

"  Don't  think  I  have  given  up — why  of  course  I 
haven't.  I  will  adjust  myself  in  a  little  time — do 
what  there  is  for  me  to  do.  I  am  going  to  see  im 
mediately  about  a  secretary,  a  stenographer — no, 
Ernestine,  I  don't  want  you  to  do  that.  It's  merely 
routine  work,  and  I  want  you  to  do  your  own  work. 
One  of  us  must  do  the  work  it  was  intended  we  should. 
I  could  have  gone  on  with  some  lecture  work  at  the 


186  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

university,  but  I — this  year  I  couldn't  quite  do  that. 
I'll  be  more  used  to  handling  myself  by  next  year, 
have  myself  better  in  hand  in  every  way.  I  couldn't 
quite  stand  the  smell  from  the  laboratory  just  now. 
This  year  I  shall  work  on  those  books  I've  told  you 
about;  just  class-room  books — I  never  could  write 
anything  that  would  be  literature — I'm  not  built  for 
that ;  but  these  things  will  be  useful,  I've  felt  the  need 
of  something  of  the  sort  in  my  own  classes.  I'll 
always  make  a  living,  Ernestine — don't  you  ever 
worry  about  that !  And  the  world  won't  know — 
why  should  we  let  it  know  we're  not  satisfied?  But 
I  can't  hide  from  you  that  it  is  the  other,  the  creative 
work — the — oh,  I  tell  you,  Ernestine,  the  fellows  up 
there  in  the  far  north  don't  have  all  the  fun!  It 
may  be  great  to  push  one's  way  through  icebergs — 
but  I  know  something  that  is  greater  than  that! 
They  say  there  is  a  joy  in  standing  where  no  man 
ever  stood  before,  and  I  can  see  that,  for  I  too 
have  stood  where  no  man  ever  stood  before !  But 
I'm  ahead  of  them — mine's  the  greater  joy — for  I 
knew  that  my  territory  was  worth  something — that 
the  world  would  follow  where  I  had  led !  " — The  old 
force,  fire,  joyous  enthusiasm  had  bounded  into  his 
voice.  But  it  died  away,  and  it  was  with  a  settling 
to  sadness  he  said,  "  You  see,  little  girl,  if  there 
was  a  wonderful  picture  you  had  conceived — your 
masterpiece,  something  you  had  reason  to  feel  would 
stand  as  one  of  the  world's  great  pictures,  if  you 
had  begun  on  it,  were  in  the  heat  of  it,  and  then 
had  to  give  it  up,  it  would  not  quite  satisfy  you, 


A    BLIND    MAN'S    TWILIGHT         187 

would  it,  dear,  to  settle  down  and  write  some  text 
books  on  art?  " 

"  Karl — it's  I  who  have  been  blind !  I  tried  so 
hard  to  understand — but  I — oh,  Karl — can't  we  do 
something?  Can't  we  do  something  about  it?" 

"  I  was  selfish  to  tell  you — but  it  is  good  to  have 
you  understand." 

But  she  had  not  let  go  that  idea  of  something  being 
done.  "  Karl,  couldn't  you  go  on  with  it?  Isn't 
there  some  way?  Can't  we  find  a  way?  " 

He  shook  his  head.  "  I  have  thought  of  it  by 
the  hour — gone  over  every  side  of  it.  But  work 
like  that  takes  a  man's  whole  being.  It  takes  more 
than  mere  eyes  and  hands — more  than  just  mind.  You 
must  have  the  spirit  right  for  it — all  things  must 
work  together.  It's  not  the  sort  of  work  to  do 
under  a  handicap.  God  knows  I'd  start  in  if  I 
could  see  my  way — but  neither  the  world  nor  myself 
would  have  anything  to  gain.  Some  one  would  have 
to  be  eyes  for  me — and  so  much  more  than  eyes. 
It's  all  in  how  things  look,  dear — their  appearance 
tells  the  story.  An  assistant  could  tell  me  what  he 
saw — but  he  could  not  bring  to  me  what  would  be 
conveyed  if  I  saw  it  myself.  All  that  was  individual 
in  my  work  would  be  gone.  Minds  do  not  work  to 
gether  like  that.  I  should  be  too  much  in  the  dark," 
he  concluded,  sadly. 

For  a  long  time  her  head  was  on  his  shoulder.  She 
was  giving  him  of  that  silent  sympathy  which  came 
with  an  eternal  freshness  from  her  heart. 

"  We'll  manage   pretty   well,"   he   went   on,  in   a 


188  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

lighter  tone  which  did  not  quite  deceive  her.  "  Our 
life  is  not  going  to  be  one  long  spell  of  moping.  It's 
time  now  for  the  year's  work  to  begin.  You  must  get 
at  jour  pictures,  and  I'll  get  at  the  books.  Oh,  I'll 
get  interested  in  them,  all  right — and  oh,  liebchen  " — 
with  a  tenderness  which  swept  all  else  aside — "  I 
have  yowl  " 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

HER    VISION 

SOME  of  the  university  people  came  over  that 
night  to   see  Karl.      Ernestine  was   glad  of 
that,  for  she  had  been  dreading  the  evening. 
Their  talk  of  the  afternoon  had  made  it  more 
clear  and  more  hard  than  it  had  ever  been  before. 

Her  mothering  instinct  had  been  supreme  that 
summer.  It  had  dominated  her  so  completely  as 
to  blur  slightly  the  clearness  of  her  intellectual 
vision.  To  be  doing  things  for  him,  making  him  as 
comfortable  as  possible,  to  find  occupation  for  him 
as  one  does  for  the  convalescent,  to  hover  about 
him,  showering  him  with  manifestations  of  her  love 
and  woman's  protectivcness — it  had  stirred  the 
mother  in  her,  and  in  the  depths  of  her  sorrow  there 
had  been  a  sublime  joy. 

Now  she  could  not  see  her  way  ahead.  It  was  her 
constant  doing  things  to  "  make  it  up  to  him"  had 
made  the  summer  bearable  at  all.  With  the  clear 
ing  of  her  vision  her  sustaining  power  seemed  taken 
from  her. 

"And  how  has  it  gone  with  you  this  summer?" 
Professor  Hastings  asked,  holding  both  of  her  hands 
for  a  minute  in  fatherly  fashion  as  she  met  him  in 
the  hall. 

189 


190  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

He  scarcely  heard  her  reply,  for  the  thought  came 
to  him :  "  If  he  could  only  see  her  now !  " 

It  was  her  pride  and  her  wistfulness,  her  courage 
and  her  appeal,  the  union  of  defiance  and  tenderness 
which  held  one  strangely  in  the  face  of  Ernestine. 
She  was  as  the  figure  of  love  standing  there  wounded 
but  unvanquished  before  the  blows  of  fate. 

"  Professor  Hastings  has  come  to  see  you,  Karl," 
she  said,  as  they  entered  the  library ;  and  as  he  rose 
she  laid  her  hand  very  gently  upon  his  arm,  a  touch 
which  seemed  more  like  an  unconscious  little  move 
ment  of  affection  than  an  assistance. 

"  Good  for  Hastings ! "  said  Karl,  with  genuine 
heartiness. 

"  And  have  a  good  many  thought  waves  from  me 
come  to  you  this  summer  ?  "  he  asked,  shaking  Karl's 
hand  with  a  warmth  which  conveyed  the  things  he 
left  unsaid. 

"  Yes,  they've  come,"  Karl  replied.  "  Oh,  we 
knew  our  friends  were  with  us," — a  little  hastily. 
"  But  we've  had  a  pretty  good  summer — haven't  we, 
Ernestine?  "  turning  his  face  to  her. 

"  In  many  ways  it  has  been  a  delightful  summer," 
— her  voice  now  had  that  blending  of  defiance  and  ap 
peal,  and  as  she  looked  at  her  husband  and  smiled 
it  flashed  through  Professor  Hastings'  mind — "  He 
knew  she  did  that !  " 

"  You  see," — after  they  were  seated — "  I  was 
really  very  uneducated.  Isn't  is  surprising,  Hastings, 
how  much  some  of  us  don't  know?  Now  what  do  you 
know  about  the  history  of  art?  Could  you  pass 


HER   VISION  191 

a  sophomore  examination  in  it?  Well,  I  couldn't 
until  Ernestine  began  coaching  me  up  this  summer. 
Now  I'm  quite  fit  to  appear  before  women's  clubs  as 
a  lecturer  on  art.  Literature,  too,  I'm  getting  on 
with;  I'm  getting  acquainted  with  all  the  Swedes 
and  the  Irishmen  and  the  Poles  who  ever  put  pen  to 
paper." 

"  Karl,"  she  protested — "  Swedes  and  Irishmen  and 
Poles ! " 

"  Isn't  that  what  they  are?  "  he  demanded,  inno 
cently. 

"  Well  they're  not  exactly  a  lot  of  immigrants." 

"  Yes  they  are ;  immigrants  into  the  domain  of 
my — shall  I  say  intellectuality?" 

They  laughed  a  little,  and  there  was  a  moment's 
pause.  "  Tell  me  about  school,"  he  said,  abruptly, 
his  voice  all  changed. 

Professor  Hastings  felt  the  -censorship  of  Ernes 
tine's  eyes  upon  him  as  he  talked ;  they  travelled  with 
a  frightened  eagerness  from  the  face  of  the  man  who 
spoke  to  him  who  listened.  He  could  see  them  deepen 
as  they  touched  dangerous  ground,  and  he  wondered 
how  she  could  go  on  living  with  that  intensity  of 
feeling. 

"  Beason  is  back,"  he  said,  in  telling  of  the  re- 
turnings  and  the  changes. 

"  Beason !  "  —Dr.  Hubers'  voice  rang  out  charged 
with  a  significance  the  older  man  could  not  under 
stand.  "  You  say  Beason  is  back  ?  "  —the  voice  then 
was  as  if  something  had  broken. 

"  Yes,   it  was   unexpected.     He  had   thought   he 


193     THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

would  be  West  this  year,  but  things  turned  out  better 
than  he  had  expected." 

"  Yes,  he  told  me — in  April,  that  he  would  be 
West  this  year."  As  he  sank  back,  his  face  in  repose, 
Professor  Hastings  saw  something  of  what  the  sum 
mer  had  done. 

Ernestine's  eyes  were  upon  him,  a  little  reproach 
ful,  and  beseeching.  But  before  he  could  think  of 
anything  redeeming  to  say  two  other  university 
men  had  been  admitted 

It  was  hard  at  first.  Dr.  Hubers  did  not  rouse  him 
self  to  more  than  the  merest  conventionality,  and  all 
the  rest  of  it  was  left  to  his  wife,  who,  however,  rose 
to  the  situation  with  a  superb  graciousness.  Finally 
they  touched  a  topic  which  roused  Karl.  His  mind 
reached  out  to  it  with  his  old  eagerness  and  virility, 
and  they  were  soon  in  the  heat  of  one  of  those  dis 
cussions  which  wage  when  men  of  active  mind  and 
kindred  interest  are  brought  together. 

Ernestine  sat  for  a  little  time  listening  to  them, 
grateful  for  the  relaxation  of  the  tension,  more  grate 
ful  still  for  this  touch  of  Karl's  old-time  self.  But 
following  upon  that  the  very  consciousness  that  they 
saw  the  real  Karl  so  seldom  now  brought  added  pain. 
What  would  the  future  hold?  What  could  it  hold? 
Must  he  not  go  farther  and  farther  from  this  real 
self  as  he  adjusted  himself  more  and  more  fully  to 
the  new  order  of  things? 

Watching  him  then,  as  he  talked  and  listened,  she 
could  appreciate  anew  what  Karl's  eyes  had  meant 
to  his  personality.  It  almost  broke  her  heart  to  see 


HER   VISION  193 

him  lean  forward  and  look  in  that  half-eager,  half- 
fretted  way  toward  the  man  who  was  speaking,  as 
though  his  blindness  were  a  barrier  between  their 
minds,  a  barrier  he  instinctively  tried  to  beat  down. 

She  wanted  to  get  away,  and  she  felt  they  would 
get  along  better  now  without  her.  So  she  left  them, 
laughingly,  to  their  cigars  and  their  discussion. 

She  wandered  about  the  house  listlessly,  mechani 
cally  doing  a  few  things  here  and  there.  And  then, 
still  aimlessly,  she  went  up  to  her  studio.  She  sat 
down  on  the  floor,  leaning  her  head  against  the  couch. 
Just  then  she  looked  like  a  very  tired,  disappointed 
child. 

And  it  was  with  something  of  a  child's  simplicity 
she  saw  things  then.  Was  it  right  to  treat  Karl 
that  way — Karl  who  was  so  great  and  good — could 
do  such  big  things?  Was  it  fair  or  right  that  Karl 
should  be  unhappy — Karl  who  did  so  much  for  other 
people,  and  who  had  all  this  sweetness  and  tenderness 
with  the  greatness? 

What  could  she  do  for  Karl?  She  loved  him 
enough  to  lay  down  her  life  for  him.  Then  was  there 
not  some  way  she  could  use  her  life  to  make  things 
better  for  him? 

And  so  she  sat  there,  her  thoughts  brooding  over 
him,  too  tired  for  anything  but  very  simple  thinking, 
too  worn  for  passion,  but  filled  with  the  sadness  of 
a  grieving  child.  It  was  after  she  had  been  looking 
straight  at  it  for  a  long  time  that  she  realised  she 
was  looking  at  a  picture  on  her  easel. 

Dimly,  uncaringly,  she  knew  what  the  picture  was. 


194  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

But  she  was  thinking  only  of  Karl.  It  was  a  long 
time  before  her  mind  really  followed  her  eyes  to  the 
picture. 

It  was  a  sketch  of  a  woman's  face.  She  remembered 
what  a  splendid  model  she  had  had  for  it.  And  then 
suddenly  her  mind  went  full  upon  it ;  her  whole  bear 
ing  changed;  she  leaned  forward  with  a  passionate 
intentness. 

Unsatisfied  longing,  disappointed  motherhood, 
deep,  deep  things  stirred  only  to  be  denied!  Yes, 
the  model  had  been  a  good  one,  but  it  was  from  her 
own  soul  the  life  things  in  that  face  had  come. 

It  brought  them  all  back  now — all  those  things 
she  had  put  into  it.  A  great  wave  of  passion  and 
yearning  swept  through  her ; — new  questionings,  sor 
row  touched  with  resentment,  longing  mingled  with 
defiance.  Why  could  not  this  have  gone  right  with 
them?  What  it  would  have  meant  to  Karl  in  these 
days  ! — sustained,  comforted,  kept  strong. 

The  pain  of  those  first  days  was  translated  by  the 
deeper  understanding  of  these.  Her  eyes  were  very 
deep,  about  her  mouth  an  infinite  yearning  as  she 
asked  some  of  those  questions  for  which  God  had  no 
answer. 

But  there  was  something  about  the  picture  she  did 
not  like.  She  looked  at  it  with  a  growing  dissatis 
faction.  And  then  she  saw  what  it  was.  The  woman 
was  sinking  to  melancholy.  She  bowed  under  the 
hand  of  fate.  She  did  not  know  why,  this  night  of 
all  others,  she  should  resent  that.  What  did  she 
want?  What  could  she  expect? 


HER   VISION  195 

She  stirred  restlessly  under  the  dissatisfaction. 
It  seemed  too  much  fate's  triumph  to  leave  it  like  this. 
Not  this  surrender,  but  a  little  of  the  Spartan,  a 
touch  of  sternness,  a  little  defiance  in  the  hunger,  an 
understanding — that  was  it! — a  submission  in  which 
there  was  the  dignity  of  understanding.  Ah — here 
it  was! — a  knowing  that  thousands  had  endured  and 
must  endure,  but  as  an  echo  from  the  Stoics — 
"Well?" 

The  idea  fascinated  her —  swept  through  her  with 
a  strange,  wild  passion.  She  scarcely  knew  what  she 
was  doing,  when,  after  a  long  time  of  looking  at  the 
picture,  she  began  getting  out  her  things.  Her  face 
had  wholly  changed.  She  too  had  now  the  under 
standing,  stern,  all-comprehending — "Well?" — for 
fate. 

She  could  work!  That  was  the  thing  remained. 
She  would  not  bow  down  under  it  and  submit.  She 
would  work!  She  would  erect  something  to  stand 
for  their  love — something  so  great,  so  universal  and 
eternal  that  it  would  make  up  for  all  taken  away. 
She  would  crystallise  their  lives  into  something  so 
big  and  supreme  that  Karl  himself,  feeling,  under 
standing  that  which  he  could  not  see,  would  come  at 
the  end  into  all  the  satisfaction  of  the  victor !  Could 
she  do  greater  things  for  him  than  that? 

She  glowed  under  the  idea.  It  filled,  thrilled,  in 
toxicated  her.  And  she  could  do  it !  As  she  saw  that 
a  few  master  strokes  were  visualising  her  idea  she 
came  into  greater  consciousness  of  her  power  than 
she  had  ever  had  before. 


196  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

It  all  flowed  into  big  new  impetus  for  her  work. 
A  year  before  she  had  wanted  to  work  because  she 
was  so  happy,  now  with  a  fierce  passion  she  turned 
to  her  work  as  the  thing  to  make  it  right  for  their 
lives.  Out  of  all  this  she  would  rise  to  so  great  an 
understanding,  so  supreme  a  power  that  they  too 
could  hurl  their  defiant— "  Well?  "—at  the  fate 
which  had  believed  them  conquered.  In  the  glow 
and  the  passion  and  the  exaltation  of  it  she  felt  that 
nothing  in  the  world,  no  trick  of  fate,  no  onslaught 
of  God  or  man,  could  keep  her  from  the  work  that 
was  hers.  She  had  a  vision  of  hosts  of  men,  all  powers 
of  fate,  marching  against  her,  and  she,  unfaltering, 
serene,  confident,  just  doing  her  work!  It  was  one 
of  the  perfect  moments  of  the  divine  intoxication. 

It  was  in  the  very  glow  of  it  that  the  strange  thing 
happened.  The  lights  from  her  ruby,  caught  in  a 
shaft  of  light,  blurred  her  vision  for  an  instant, 
and  in  that  same  instant,  as  if  borne  with  the  lights 
of  the  stone,  there  penetrated  her  glowing,  exuber 
ant  mood — quick,  piercing,  like  an  arrow  shot  in 
with  strong,  true  hand — "  He  loves  his  work  just 
like  this.  You  know  now.  You  understand." 

Her  mood  fell  away  like  a  pricked  bubble.  The 
divine  glow,  that  passionate  throbbing  of  conscious 
jpower,  made  way  for  the  comprehension  of  that  thing 
shot  in  upon  her  like  a  shaft. — "  He  loves  his  work 
just  like  this.  You  know  now.  You  understand." 

She  had  been  standing,  and  she  sank  to  a  chair. 
Like  all  great  changes  it  sapped  up  strength.  The 
blood  had  cooled  too  suddenly,  and  she  was  weak  and 


HER   VISION  197 

trembling — but,  oh,  how  she  understood!  He  him 
self  did  not  understand  it  as  she  understood  it  now. 

Pushing  upon  him — dominating  him — clamouring 
— crowding  for  outlet  when  outlet  had  been  closed — 
gathering,  growing,  and  unable  to  find  its  valve 
of  escape — why  it  would  crowd  upon  him — kill  him! 
Beat  it  down  ?  But  it  was  the  deathless  in  him.  With 
human  strength  put  out  a  fire  that  was  divine? 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  to  shut  it 
out.  But  she  could  not  shut  it  out ;  it  was  there — a 
thing  to  be  faced,  not  evaded — a  thing  which  would 
grow,  not  draw  away.  And  she  loved  him  so !  In 
this  moment  of  perfect  understanding,  this  divine 
cameraderie  of  the  soul — knowing  that  they  were 
touched  with  the  same  touch — drew  from  a  common 
fount — she  felt  within  her  a  love  for  him,  an  under 
standing,  which  all  of  the  centuries  behind  her,  the 
eternity  out  of  which  she  had  come — had  gone  to 
make. 

And  then,  grim,  stern,  she  put  her  intellect  upon 
it.  She  went  over  everything  he  had  said  that  after 
noon.  Each  thought  of  it  opened  up  new  channels, 
and  she  followed  them  all  to  their  uttermost.  And 
in  that  getting  of  it  in  hand  there  was  more  than  in 
sight,  knowledge,  conviction.  There  was  a.  complete 
sensing  of  the  truth,  a  comprehending  of  things  just 
without  the  pale  of  reason. 

Her  face  pale,  her  eyes  looking  into  that  far  dis 
tance,  she  sat  there  for  more  than  an  hour,  oblivious 
for  the  first  time  since  his  blindness  to  the  thought 
that  Karl  might  be  needing  her,  lost  to  all  conven- 


198  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

tional  instincts  as  hostess.  Hard  and  fast  the 
thoughts  beat  upon  her,  and  then  at  last  in  the  wake 
of  those  thoughts,  out  beyond,  there  was  born  a 
great  light.  It  staggered  her  at  first ;  it  seemed  a 
light  too  great  for  human  mind  to  bear.  But  time 
passed,  and  the  light  burned  on,  steady,  fixed,  not 
to  pass  away.  And  in  that  momentous  hour  which 
words  are  quite  powerless  to  record,  something  was 
buried,  and  something  born. 


CHAPTER    XXIV 
LOVE    CHALLENGES   FATE 

THE  doctor  hung  up  the  receiver  slowly  and 
with  meditation.  And  when  he  turned  from 
the  telephone  his  thoughts  did  not  leave  the 
channel  to  which  it  had  directed  them.  What 
was  it  Mrs.  Hubers  wanted?  Why  was  she  coming 
to  the  office  at  four  that  afternoon?  Something  in 
her  voice  made  him  wonder. 

He  had  offered  to  go  out,  but  she  preferred  coming 
to  the  office.  Evidently  then  she  wished  to  see  him 
alone;  and  she  had  specified  that  she  come  when  he 
could  give  her  the  most  time.  Then  there  was  some 
thing  to  talk  over.  He  had  asked  for  Karl,  and  she 
answered,  cheerfully,  that  he  was  well.  "And  you?  " 
he  pursued,  and  she  had  laughed  with  that — an  un 
derlying  significance  in  that  laugh  perplexed  him 
as  he  recalled  it,  and  had  answered  buoyantly:  "I? 
Oh,  splendid!" 

It  did  not  leave  his  mind  all  day ;  he  thought  about 
it  a  great  deal  as  he  drove  his  car  from  place  to 
place.  It  even  came  to  him  in  the  operating  room, 
and  it  was  not  usual  for  anything  to  intrude  there. 

He  reached  the  office  a  few  minutes  ahead  of  the 
hour,  but  she  was  waiting  for  him.  She  rose  as  she 
saw  him  at  the  door  and  took  an  eager  step  forward. 
Her  cheeks  were  flushed,  her  eyes  very  bright,  and 

199 


200  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

her  smile,  as  she  held  out  her  hand,  had  that  same 
quality  as  her  voice  of  the  morning. 

She  was  so  far  removed  from  usual  things  that  she 
resorted  to  no  conventional  pleasantries  after  they 
had  entered  the  doctor's  inner  office,  and  she  waited 
for  him  to  attend  to  a  few  little  things  before  giving 
her  his  attention.  He  knew  by  the  way  her  eyes  fol 
lowed  him  about  that  she  was  eager  to  begin,  and 
while  there  was  a  little  timidity  about  her  it  seemed 
just  a  timidity  of  manner,  of  things  exterior,  while 
back  of  that  he  felt  the  force  of  her  poise. 

He  had  never  seen  her  so  beautiful.  She  was  wear 
ing  a  brown  velvet  suit,  a  golden  brown  like  some  of 
the  glints  in  her  hair  and  some  of  the  lights  in  her 
eyes.  Her  eyes,  too,  held  that  something  which  puz 
zled  him.  It  was  a  windy  day,  and  her  hair  was  a 
little  disarranged,  which  made  her  look  very  young, 
and  her  veil  was  thrown  back  from  her  face  just 
right  to  make  a  frame  for  it.  Why  could  not  all 
women  manage  those  big  veils  the  way  some  women 
did,  he  wondered. 

He  sat  down  in  the  chair  before  his  desk,  and  swung 
it  around  facing  her.  Then  he  waited  for  her  to 
speak. 

That  little  timidity  was  upon  her  for  the  second, 
but  she  broke  through  it,  seeming  to  shake  it  off  with 
a  little  shake  of  her  head.  "  Dr.  Parkman,"  she 
said — her  voice  was  low  and  well  controlled — "  I 
have  come  to  you  because  I  want  you  to  help  me." 

He  liked  that.  Very  few  people  came  out  with  the 
truth  at  the  start  that  way. 


LOVE    CHALLENGES   FATE  201 

"  I  wonder  if  you  know,"  she  went  on,  looking  at 
him  with  a  very  sweet  seriousness,  "  that  Karl  is  very 
unhappy  ?  " 

His  face  showed  that  that  was  unexpected.  "  Why, 
yes,"  he  assented,  "  I  know  that  his  heart  has  not 
been  as  philosophical  as  some  of  his  words ;  but" — 
gently — "  what  can  you  expect?  " 

She  did  not  answer  that,  but  pondered  something 
a  minute.  "  Dr.  Parkman,"  she  began  abruptly, 
"  just  why  do  you  think  it  is  Karl  cannot  go  on  with 
his  work?  I  do  not  mean  his  lectures,  but  his  own 
work  in  the  laboratory,  the  research?  " 

Again  he  showed  that  she  was  surprising  him. 
"  Why  surely  you  understand  that.  It  is  self-evident, 
is  it  not?  He  cannot  do  his  laboratory  work  because 
he  has  lost  his  eyes." 

"  Eyes — yes.  But  the  eye  is  only  an  instrument ; 
he  has  not  lost  his  brain."  The  flush  in  her  cheeks 
deepened.  Her  eyes  met  his  in  challenge.  Her  voice 
on  that  had  been  very  firm. 

He  was  quick  to  read  beyond  the  words.  "You  are 
asking,  intending  to  ask,  why  he  could  not  go  on, 
working  through  some  assistant?  " 

"  I  want  to  know  just  what  is  your  idea  of  why  he 
cannot.  All  the  things  of  mind  and  temperament — 
things  which  make  him  Karl — are  there  as  before. 
Are  we  not  letting  a  very  little  thing  hold  us  back?  " 
— there  was  much  repression  now,  as  though  she  must 
hold  herself  in  check,  and  wait. 

"  I've  thought  about  it  too ! "  he  exclaimed. 
"  Heaven  knows  I've  tried  to  see  it  that  way.  But 


THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

my  conclusion  has  always  been  like  Karl's :  the  handi 
cap  would  be  too  great." 

"Why?  "  she  asked  calmly. 

"  Why  ?  Why — because,"  be  replied,  almost  im 
patiently,  and  then  laughed  a  little  at  his  woman's 
reason. 

"  I'll  tell  you  why  !  " — her  eyes  deepening.  "  I'll 
tell  you  the  secret  of  your  conclusion.  You  con 
cluded  he  could  not  go  on  with  his  work  just  because 
no  assistant  could  be  in  close  enough  touch  with  Karl 
to  make  clear  the  things  he  saw." 

He  thought  a  minute.  Then,  "  That's  about  it," 
he  answered  briefly. 

"  You  concluded  that  two  men's  brains  could  not 
work  together  in  close  enough  harmony  for  one  man's 
eyes  to  fit  the  other  man's  brain." 

"  You  put  it  very  clearly,"  he  assented. 

She  paused,  as  though  to  be  very  sure  of  herself 
here.  "  Then,  doctor,  looking  a  little  farther  into  it, 
one  sees  something  else.  If  there  were  some  one  -close 
enough  to  Karl  to  bring  to  his  brain,  through  some 
other  medium  than  eyes,  the  things  the  eyes  would 
naturally  carry ;  if  there  were  some  one  close  enough 
to  make  things  just  as  plain  as  though  Karl  were  see 
ing  them  himself,  then " — her  voice  gathered  in 
intensity  — "  despite  the  loss  of  his  eyes,  he  could  go 
right  on  with  his  work." 

"  Um — well,  yes,  if  such  an  impossible  thing  were 
possible." 

"  But  it  is  possible !  Oh  if  I  can  only  make  you 
see  this  now!  Doctor,  don't  you  see  it?  7  am  closer 


LOVE    CHALLENGES    FATE  203 

to  him  than  any  one  in  the  world !  I  am  the  one  to 
take  up  his  work !  " 

He  pushed  back  his  chair  and  sat  staring  at  her 
speechlessly. 

"  Dr.  Parkman,"  she  began — and  it  seemed  now 
that  he  had  never  known  her  at  all  before — "  most 
of  the  biggest  things  ever  proposed  in  this  world 
have  sounded  very  ridiculous  to  the  people  who  first 
heard  of  them.  The  unprecedented  has  usually  been 
called  the  impossible.  Now  I  ask  you  to  do  just  one 
thing.  Don't  hold  my  idea  at  arm's  length  as  an 
impossibility.  Look  it  straight  in  the  face  without 
prejudice.  Who  would  do  more  for  Karl  than  any 
one  else  on  earth?  Who  is  closer  to  him  than  any 
one  else  in  the  world?  Who  can  make  him  see  without 
seeing? — yet,  know  without  knowing?  Dr.  Park 
man," — voice  eager,  eyes  very  tender — "  is  there 
any  question  in  your  mind  as  to  who  can  come  closest 
to  Karl?" 

"But — but — "  he  gasped. 

"  I  know,"  she  hastened — "  much  to  talk  over ;  so 
many  things  to  overcome.  But  won't  you  be  very 
fair  to  me  and  look  at  it  first  as  a  whole?  The  men 
in  Karl's  laboratory  know  more  about  science  than  I 
do.  But  they  do  not  know  as  much  about  Karl. 
They  have  the  science  and  I  have  the  spirit.  I  can 
get  the  science  but  they  could  never  get  the  spirit. 
After  all,  isn't  there  some  meaning  in  that  old  phrase 
'a  labour  of  love'?  Doctor" — her  smile  made  it  so 
much  clearer  than  her  words — "  did  you  ever  hear  of 
knowledge  and  skill  working  a  miracle?  Do  you 


204     THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

know  anything  save  love  which  can  do  the  impos 
sible?  "  " 

He  did  not  speak  at  once.  He  did  not  find  it  easy 
to  answer  words  like  that.  "  But,  my  dear  Mrs. 
Hubers,"  he  finally  began — "  you  are  simply  assum 
ing " 

"Yes," — and  the  tenderness  leaped  suddenly  to  pas 
sion  and  the  passion  intensified  to  sternness — "I 
am  simply  assuming  that  it  can  be  done,  and  through 
obstacle  and  argument,  from  now  until  the  end  of  my 
life,  I  am  going  on  assuming  that  very  thing,  and 
furthermore,  Dr.  Parkman," — relaxing  a  little  and 
smiling  at  him  under  standingly — "  just  as  soon  as 
the  light  has  fully  dawned  upon  you,  you  are  going 
to  begin  assuming  that,  and  you  are  the  very  man — 
oh,  I  know — to  keep  on  assuming  it  in  the  face  of 
all  the  obstacles  which  the  University  of  Chicago — 
yes,  and  all  creation — may  succeed  in  piling  up. 
There  is  one  thing  on  which  you  and  I  are  going  to 
stand  very  firmly  together.  That  thing," — with  the 
deep  quiet  of  finality — "  is  that  Karl  shall  go  on 
with  his  work." 

Dr.  Parkman  had  never  been  handled  that  way  be 
fore;  perhaps  it  was  its  newness  which  fascinated 
him ;  at  any  rate  he  seemed  unable  to  say  the  things 
he  felt  he  should  be  saying. 

"  Dr.  Parkman,  the  only  weak  people  in  this  world 
are  the  people  who  sit  down  and  say  that  things  are 
impossible.  The  only  big  people  are  the  people  who 
stand  up  and  declare  in  the  face  of  whatsoever  comes 
that  nothing  is  impossible.  For  Karl  there  is 


LOVE    CHALLENGES   FATE  205 

excuse;  the  shock  has  been  too  great — his  blindness 
has  shut  him  in.  But  you  and  I  are  out  in  the  light 
of  day,  doctor,  and  I  say  that  you  and  I  have  been 
weaklings  long  enough." 

He  had  never  been  called  a  weakling  before — he  had 
never  thought  to  be  called  a  weakling,  but  the  strange 
ness  of  that  was  less  strange  than  something  in  her 
eyes,  her  voice,  her  spirit,  which  seemed  drawing  him 
on. 

"  Karl  has  lost  his  eyes.  Has  he  lost  his  brain — 
any  of  those  things  which  make  him  Karl?  All  that 
has  been  taken  away  is  the  channel  of  communication. 
I  am  not  presuming  to  be  his  brain.  All  I  ask  is 
to  carry  things  to  the  brain.  Why,  doctor, — I'm 
ashamed,  mortified — that  we  hadn't  thought  of  it  be 
fore  !  " 

"  But — how?  "  he  finally  asked,  weakly  enough. 

"  I  will  go  into  Karl's  laboratory  and  learn  how 
to  work — all  that  part  of  it  I  want  you  to  arrange 
for  me.  After  all,  I  have  a  good  foundation.  I 
think  I  told  you  about  my  father,  and  how  hard  he 
tried  to  make  a  scientist  of  me?  And  it  was  queer 
about  my  laboratory  work.  It  was  always  easy  for 
me.  I  could  see  it,  all  right — enough  my  father's 
child  for  that,  but  you  see  my  working  enthusiasm 
and  ambition  were  given  to  other  things.  Now  I'll 
make  things  within  me  join  forces,  for  I  will  love  the 
work  now,  because  of  what  it  can  do  for  Karl.  I 
need  to  be  trained  how  to  work,  how  to  observe,  and 
above  all  else  learn  to  tell  exactly  what  I  see.  I  shall 
strive  to  become  a  perfectly  constructed  instrument — 


£06    THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

that's  all.  And  I  will  be  better  than  the  usual  labor 
atory  assistant,  for  not  having  any  ideas  of  my  own 
I  will  not  intrude  my  individuality  upon  Karl — to 
blur  his  vision.  I  shall  not  try  to  deduce — and  mis 
lead  him  with  my  wrong  conclusions.  I  shall  simply 
see.  A  man  who  knew  more  about  it  might  not  be 
able  to  separate  what  he  saw  from  what  he  thought — 
and  that  would  be  standing  between  Karl  and  the 
facts." 

He  was  looking  at  her  strangely.  "  And  your  own 
work — what  would  be  happening  to  it,  if  you  were 
to  do— this?" 

"  I  have  given  my  own  work  up,"  she  said,  and  she 
said  it  so  simply  that  it  might  have  seemed  a  very 
simply  matter. 

"  You  can't  do  that,"  he  met  her,  sharply. 

"Yes," — slowly — "I  can.  I  love  it,  but  I  love 
Karl  more.  If  I  have  my  work  he  cannot  have  his, 
and  Karl  has  been  deprived  of  his  eyes — he  is  giving 
up  the  sunlight — the  stars — the  face  he  loves — many 
things.  I  thought  it  all  out  last  night,  and  the 
very  simple  justice  of  it  is  that  Karl  is  the  one  to 
have  his  work." 

She  was  dwelling  upon  it, — a  wonderful  tender 
ness  lighting  her  face;  for  the  minute  she  had  for 
gotten  him. 

Then  suddenly  she  came  sharply  back  to  the  prac 
tical,  brought  herself  ruthlessly  back  to  it,  as  if  fear 
ing  it  was  her  practicality  he  would  question.  "  Be 
sides,  Karl's  work  is  the  more  important.  Nobody 
is  going  to  die  for  a  water  colour  or  an  oil  painting ; 


LOVE    CHALLENGES    FATE  207 

people  are  dying  every  day  for  the  things  Karl  can 
give.  But,  doctor," — far  too  feminine  not  to  press 
the  advantage — "  if  I  can  do  that,  don't  you  think 
you  can  afford  to  break  through  your  conservatism 
and — you  will,  doctor,  won't  you  ?  " 

But  Dr.  Parkman  had  wheeled  his  chair  about  so 
that  she  -could  not  see  his  face.  His  eyes  had  grown 
a  little  dim. 

"  You  see,  doctor," — gently, — "  what  I  am  going 
to  give  to  it?  Not  only  the  things  any  one  else  could 
give,  but  all  my  love  for  Karl,  and  added  to  that  all 
those  things  within  myself  which  have  heretofore  been 
poured  into  my  own  work.  I  can  paint,  doctor,  you 
and  I  know  that,  and  I  think  you  know  something 
of  how  I  love  it.  Something  inside  of  me  has  always 
been  given  to  it — a  great  big  something  for  which 
there  is  no  name.  Now  I  am  going  to  just  force  all 
that  into  a  new  channel,  and  don't  you  see  how  much 
there  will  be  to  give?  And  in  practical  ways  too  I 
can  make  my  own  work  count.  I  know  how  to  use 
my  hands — and  there  isn't  a  laboratory  assistant  in 
the  whole  University  of  Chicago  knows  as  much  about 
colour  as  I  do !  " — she  smiled  like  a  pleased  child. 

He  looked  at  her  then — a  long  look.  He  had  for 
gotten  the  moisture  in  his  eyes, — he  did  not  mind. 
And  it  was  many  years  since  any  one  had  seen  upon 
Dr.  Parkman's  face  the  look  which  Ernestine  saw 
there  now. 

"Isn't  it  strange,  doctor,"  she  went  on,  after  a 
pause,  "  how  we  think  we  understand,  and  then  sud 
denly  awake  to  find  we  have  not  been  understanding 


208  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

at  all?  Karl  and  I  had  a  long  talk  yesterday,  and  in 
that  talk  he  seemed  able  to  let  me  right  into  it  all. 
All  summer  long  I  did  my  best,  but  I  see  now  I  had 
not  been  understanding.  And  understanding  as  I  do 
now — caring  as  I  care — do  you  think  I  .can  sit  quietly 
by  and  see  Karl  make  himself  over  to  fit  this  miser 
able  situation  ?  Do  you  think  I  am  going  to  help  him 
adjust  himself  to  giving  up  the  great  thing  in  him? 
No — he  is  not  going  to  accept  it !  I  tell  you  Karl 
is  to  be  Karl — he  is  to  do  Karl's  work — and  find 
Karl's  place.  Why  I  tell  you,  Dr.  Parkman,  I  will 
not  have  it  any  other  way !  " 

It  was  a  passionate  tyranny  of  the  spirit  over 
which  caution  of  mind  seemed  unable  to  prevail.  His 
reason  warned  him — I  cannot  see  how  this  and  this 
and  that  are  to  be  done,  but  the  soul  in  her  voice 
seemed  drawing  him  to  a  light  out  beyond  the  dark 
ness. 

"  Doctor," — her  eyes  glowing  with  a  tender  pride 
— "  think  of  it !  Think  of  Karl  doing  his  work  in 
spite  of  his  blindness !  Won't  it  stand  as  one  of  the 
greatest  things  in  the  whole  history  of  science?" 

He  nodded,  the  light  of  enthusiasm  growing  more 
steady  in  his  own  eye. 

"  But  I  have  not  finished  telling  you.  After  our 
talk  yesterday  it  seemed  to  me  I  could  not  go  on  at 
all.  I  didn't  know  what  to  do.  In  the  evening  I 
was  up  in  my  studio — " — she  paused,  striving  to 
formulate  it, — "  No,  I  see  I  can't  tell  it,  but  suddenly 
things  came  to  me,  and,  doctor,  I  understand  it  now 
better  than  Karl  understands  it  himself." 


LOVE    CHALLENGES    FATE  209 

He  felt  the  things  which  she  did  not  say;  indeed 
through  it  all  it  was  the  unspoken  drew  him  most 
irresistibly. 

"  I'll  not  try  to  tell  you  how  it  all  worked  itself 
out,  but  I  saw  things  very  clearly  then,  and  all  the 
facts  and  all  the  reason  and  all  the  logic  in  the  world 
could  not  make  me  believe  I  did  not  see  the  truth. 
My  idea  of  taking  it  up  myself,  of  my  being  the  one 
to  bring  Karl  back  to  his  work,  seemed  to  come  to  me 
like  some  great  divine  light.  I  suppose,"  she  con 
cluded,  simply,  "  that  it  was  what  you  would  call 
a  moment  of  inspiration." 

She  leaned  her  head  back  as  though  very  tired, 
but  smiling  a  little.  He  did  not  speak;  he  had  too 
much  the  understanding  heart  to  intrude  upon  the 
things  shining  from  her  face. 

"  I  could  do  good  work,  doctor.  I've  always  felt 
it, and  I  have  done  just  enough  to  justify  me  in  know 
ing  it.  I  don't  believe  any  one  ever  loved  his  work 
more  than  I  love  mine,  and  last  night  when  I  saw 
things  so  clearly  I  saw  how  the  longing  for  it  would 
come  to  me — oh,  I  know.  Don't  think  I  do  not 
know.  But  something  will  sustain  me;  something 
will  keep  my  courage  high,  and  that  something  is 
the  look  there  will  be  on  Karl's  face  when  I  tell  him 
what  I  have  done.  You  see  we  will  not  tell  Karl  at 
first ;  we  will  keep  it  a  great  secret.  He  will  know  I 
am  working  hard,  but  will  think  it  is  my  own  work. 
If  we  told  him  now  he  would  say  it  was  impossible. 
His  blindness,  the  helplessness  that  goes  with  it,  has 
taken  away  some  of  his  confidence,  and  he  would  say 


210     THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

it  could  not  be  done.  But  what  will  he  say," — she 
laughed,  almost  gleefully — "  when  he  finds  I  have 
gone  ahead  and  made  myself  ready  for  him?  When 
you  tell  him  I  can  do  it — and  the  laboratory  men  tell 
him  so?  He  will  try  it  then,  just  out  of  gratitude 
to  me.  Oh,  it  will  not  go  very  well  at  first.  It  is 
going  to  take  practice — days  and  weeks  and  months 
of  it — to  learn  how  to  work  together.  But,  little  by 
little,  he  will  gain  confidence  in  himself  and  in  me,  he 
will  begin  getting  back  his  grip — enthusiasm — all 
the  things  of  the  old-time  Karl,  and  then  some  day 
when  we  have  had  a  little  success  about  something  he 
will  burst  forth — '  By  Jove — Ernestine — I  believe  we 
can  make  it  go ! ' — and  that,"  she  concluded,  softly, 
"  will  be  worth  it  all  to  me." 

Again  a  silence  which  sank  deeper  than  words — a 
silence  which  sealed  their  compact. 

She  came  from  it  with  the  vigorously  practical, 
"  Now,  Dr.  Parkman," — sitting  up  very  straight, 
with  an  assertive  little  gesture — "  you  go  out  to  that 
university  and  fire  their  souls!  Wake  them  up! 
Make  them  see  it!  And  when  do  you  think  I  can 
begin?" 

That  turned  them  to  actual  issues ;  he  spoke  freely 
of  difficulties,  and  they  discussed  them  together 
calmly.  Her  enthusiasm  was  not  builded  on  dreams 
alone;  it  was  not  of  that  volatile  stuff  which  must 
perish  in  detail  and  difficulty.  She  was  ready  to  meet 
it  all,  to  ponder  and  plan.  And  where  he  had  been 
carried  by  her  enthusiasm  he  was  held  by  her  re 
sourcefulness. 


LOVE    CHALLENGES   FATE  211 

"Arc  august  dignitaries  of  reason  and  judgment 
likely  to  rise  up  and  make  it  very  unpleasant  for  you 
after  I've  gone?"  she  asked  him,  laughingly,  when 
she  had  risen  to  go. 

"  Very  likely  to,"  he  laughed. 

"  Tell  them  it's  not  their  affair !  Tell  them  to  do 
what  they're  told  and  not  ask  too  many  questions !  " 

"  I'll  try  to  put  them  in  their  proper  place,"  he  as 
sured  her. 

He  watched  her  as  she  stood  there  buttoning  her 
glove — slight,  almost  frail,  scarcely  one's  idea  cf  a 
"  masterful  woman."  It  struck  him  then  as  strange 
that  she  had  not  so  much  as  asked  for  pledge  of 
his  allegiance.  What  was  it  about  her ? 

She  was  holding  out  her  hand.  Something  in  her 
eyes  lighted  and  glorified  her  whole  face.  "  Thank 
you,  doctor,"  she  said,  very  low. 

For  a  long  time  he  sat  motionless  before  his  desk. 
He  was  thinking  of  many  things.  "  Nothing  in  which 
to  believe,"  he  murmured  at  last,  looking  about  the 
room  still  warm  with  the  spirit  she  had  left — "  noth 
ing  in  which  to  believe — when  there  is  love  such  as 
this  in  the  world?" 


CHAPTER    XXV 
DR.   PARKMAN'S  WAY 

THE  next   morning  Dr.  Parkman  turned  his 
automobile  in  the  direction  of  the  University 
of  Chicago.     There  was  a  very  grim  look 
on  his  face  as  he  sent  the  car,  with  the  hand 
of  an  expert,  through  the  crowded  streets.     He  had 
his  do-or-die  expression,  and  the  way  he  was  letting 
the  machine  out  would  not  indicate  a  shrinking  back 
from  what  lay  before  him.   He  rather  -chuckled  once ; 
that  is,  it  began  in  a  chuckle,  and  ended  with  the 
semblance  of  a  grunt,  and  when  he  finally  swung  the 
car  down  the   Midway,  he  was   saying  to  himself: 
"  Glad  of  it !    I've  been  wanting  for  a  long  time  to 
tell  that  Lane  what  I  thought  of  him." 

Inquiries  over  the  telephone  had  developed  the  fact 
that  through  some  shifting  about,  Dr.  George  Lane 
was  temporary  head  of  the  department ;  it  was  to  Dr. 
George  Lane  then  that  Dr.  Parkman  must  go  with 
the  matter  in  hand  this  morning.  That  had  seemed 
bad  at  first,  for  Lane  was  one  man  out  there  he 
couldn't  get  on  with  and  did  not  want  to.  They  al 
ways  clashed;  upon  their  last  meeting  Lane  had 
said — "  Really  now,  Dr.  Parkman,  don't  you  feel 
that  a  broader  culture  is  the  real  need  of  the  medical 
profession?"  and  Parkman  had  retorted,  "  Shouldn't 

212 


DR.    PARKMAN'S    WAY  213 

wonder,  but  has  it  ever  struck  you,  Dr.  Lane,  that 
a  little  more  horse  sense  is  the  real  need  of  the  uni 
versity  professor?"  He  declared,  grimly,  as  he 
finally  drew  his  car  to  a  snorting  stop  at  the  uni 
versity,  that  he  would  have  to  try  some  other  method 
than  "  firing  his  soul,"  as  Ernestine  had  bade  him 
do.  "  In  the  first  place,"  he  figured  it  out,  "  he  has 
no  soul,  and  if  he  had,  I  wouldn't  be  the  one  to  fire  it 
with  anything  but  rage."  But  the  doctor  was  not 
worrying  much  about  results.  He  thought  he  had  a 
little  ammunition  in  reserve  which  assured  the  out 
come,  and  which  would  enable  him,  at  the  same  time, 
to  "  let  loose  on  Lane,"  should  the  latter  show  a 
tendency  to  become  too  important. 

The  erudite  Lane  was  a  neatly  built  little  fellow, 
very  spick  and  span.  First  America  and  then  Eng 
land  had  done  their  best — or  worst — by  him.  Just 
as  every  hair  on  his  head  was  properly  brushed,  so 
Dr.  Parkman  felt  quite  sure  that  every  idea  within 
the  head  was  properly  beaten  down  with  a  pair  of 
intellectual  military  brushes,  one  of  which  he  had 
acquired  to  the  west,  and  the  other  to  the  east  of  the 
Atlantic.  "  I  suppose  he's  a  scholar,"  mused  the 
doctor,  as  he  surveyed  the  back  of  the  dignitary's 
head  while  waiting,  "  but  what  in  God's  name  would 
he  do  if  he  were  ever  to  be  hit  with  an  original  idea?  " 

"  Ah,  yes,  Dr.  Parkman,  we  so  seldom  see  you  very 
busy  men  out  here.  We  always  appreciate  it  when 
you  busy  men  look  in  upon  us." 

Now  the  tone  did  not  appeal  to  Dr.  Parkman,  and 
with  one  of  his  quick  decisions  he  bade  tact  take  itself 


THE    GLORY    OF.    THE    CONQUERED 

to  the  four  winds,  leaving  him  alone  with  his  reserve 
guns. 

"  I  always  appreciate  it,"  he  began  abruptly,  not 
attempting  to  deny  that  he  was  a  busy  man,  "  when 
people  take  as  little  of  my  time  as  possible.  I  will 
try  to  do  unto  others  as  I  would  that  others  do  unto 
me." 

By  the  merest  lifting  of  his  eyebrows,  Lane  signi 
fied  that  he  would  make  no  attempt  at  detaining  the 
doctor  longer  than  he  wished  to  stay.  He  awaited 
punctiliously  the  other  man's  pleasure,  silently  em 
phasising  that  the  interview  was  not  of  his  bringing 
about.  "Thinks  I'm  a  boor  and  a  brute,"  mused 
Parkman. 

"  What  I  wanted  to  see  you  about,"  he  began,  "  re 
lates  to  Dr.  Hubers." 

"  Ah,  yes — poor  Hubers.  A  remarkable  man,  in 
many  ways.  It  is  one  of  those  things  which  make  one 
— very  sad.  We  wanted  him  to  go  on  with  his  lec 
tures,  but  he  did  not  seem  to  feel  quite  equal  to  it." 

"  Huh !  " — that  might  mean  a  variety  of  things. 
The  tone  of  patronage  infuriated  Karl's  friend. 
"  Jealous — sore — glad  Karl's  out  of  it,"  he  was  in 
terpreting  it. 

Then  he  delivered  this  very  calmly :  "  Well,  the 
fact  of  the  matter  is,  that  among  all  medical  men, 
and  in  that  part  of  the  scientific  world  which  I  may 
call  the  active  part — the  only  part  of  any  real  value 
—Karl  Hubers  is  regarded  so  far  above  every  other 
man  who  ever  set  foot  in  this  university  that  all 
the  rest  of  the  place  is  looked  upon  as  something 


DR.    PARKMAN'S    WAY  £15 

which  surrounds  him.  Over  in  Europe,  they  say — 
'Chicago? — University  of  Chicago?  Oh,  yes — yes 
indeed,  I  remember  now.  That's  where  Hubers  is.'  " 

"  The  professor,"  as  Dr.  Parkman  frequently  in 
sisted  on  calling  him,  showed  himself  capable  of  a 
rush  of  red  blood  to  the  face,  and  of  a  very  human 
engulfing  of  emotion  in  a  hurried  cough.  "  Ah,  I  see 
you  are  a  warm  friend,  Dr.  Parkman,"  quickly  re 
gaining  his  impenetrable  superiority,  and  smiling 
tolerantly.  "  But  looking  at  it  quite  dispassionately, 
putting  aside  sympathy  and  all  personal  feeling,  I 
have  sometimes  felt  that  Dr.  Hubers,  in  spite  of  his 
—I  may  say  gifts,  in  some  directions,  is  a  little 
lacking  in  that  broad  culture,  that  finer  quality  of 
universal  scholarship  which  should  dominate  the  ideal 
university  man  of  to-day." 

Dr.  Parkman  was  smiling  in  a  knowing  way  to 
himself.  "  I  see  what  you  mean,  Professor,  though  I 
would  put  it  a  little  differently.  I  wouldn't  call 
him  in  the  least  lacking  in  broad  culture,  but  he  is 
rather  lacking  in  pedantry,  in  limitations,  in  intel 
lectual  snobbery,  in  university  folderols.  And  of 
course  a  man  who  is  actually  doing  something  in 
the  world,  who  stands  for  real  achievement,  has  a 
little  less  time  to  look  after  the  fine  quality  of  uni 
versal  scholarship." 

Perhaps  Lane  would  have  been  either  more  or  less 
than  human,  had  he  not  retorted  to  that :  "  But  as 
to  this  great  achievement — it  has  never  been  forth 
coming,  has  it?  " 

The  doctor  had  a  little  nervous  affection  of  his 


216    THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

face.  The  corner  of  one  eye  and  one  corner  of  his 
mouth  sometimes  twitched  a  little.  People  who  knew 
him  well  were  apt  to  grow  nervous  themselves  when 
they  made  that  observation.  But  as  no  one  who 
knew  him  chanced  to  be  present,  the  storm  broke  all 
unannounced. 

"  For  which,"  he  snarled  out,  "  every  cheap  skate 
of  a  university  professor  who  never  did  anything 
himself  but  paddle  other  men's  canoes,  for  which 
every  human  phonograph  and  intellectual  parrot 
sends  out  thanks  from  his  two-by-four  soul!  But 
among  men  who  are  men,  among  physicians  who  have 
cause  to  know  his  worth,  among  scientists  big  enough 
to  get  out  of  their  own  shadows,  and,  thank  God, 
among  the  people  who  haven't  been  fossilised  by 
clammy  universities  out  of  all  sense  of  human  values 
— among  them,  I  say,  Karl  Hubers  is  appreciated  for 
what  he  was  close  to  doing  when  this  damnable  fate 
stepped  in  and  stopped  him ! " 

The  man  of  broad  culture,  very  white  as  to  the 
face,  rose  to  his  fullest  height.  It  should  not  be 
held  against  him  that  his  fullest  height  failed  in 
reaching  the  other  man's  shoulder.  "  If  there  is 
nothing  further,"  he  choked  out,  "  perhaps  we  may 
consider  the  interview  concluded?" 

"  No,"  retorted  Parkman  serenely,  "  the  interview 
has  just  begun.  It's  your  business,  isn't  it,  to  listen 
to  matters  relating  to  this  department?  " 

"  It  is ;  but  as  I  am  accustomed  to  meeting  men 
of  some— 

"  Manners  ?  "  supplied  the  doctor  pleasantlyt 


DR.    PARKMAN'S    WAY 

"  As  I  am  accustomed  to  men  of  a  somewhat  dif 
ferent  type," — he  picked  the  phrase  punctiliously, 
manifestly  a  conservative,  even  in  war — "  I  was  nat 
urally  unprepared  for  the  nature  of  your  remarks." 

"  Oh  well,  the  unexpected  must  be  rather  agreeable 
when  one  leads  so  cut  and  dried  a  life.  But  what  I 
want  to  see  you  about,"  he  went  on,  quite  as  though 
he  had  dropped  the  most  pleasant  thing  in  the  world, 
"  is  just  this.  I  want  you  to  give  the  use  of  Dr. 
Hubers'  laboratory,  his  equipment  and  at  least  one 
of  his  assistants,  to  Dr.  Hubers'  wife,  that  she  may 
get  in  shape  to  work  with  him  as  his  assistant,  and 
enable  him  to  carry  on  his  work  and  do*  those  things, 
which,  as  you  correctly  state,  are  still  unachieved." 

Now  the  delivering  of  that  pleased  Dr.  Parkman 
very  much.  He  scarcely  attempted  to  conceal  his 
righteous  pride. 

"Really,  now,"  gasped  the  head  of  the  depart 
ment,  after  a  minute  of  speechless  staring,  "  really* 

now,  Dr.  Parkman,  you  astonish  me." "  That's 

the  truth,  if  he  ever  spoke  it,"  thought  the  doctor 
grimly. — "  Dr.  Hubers5  wife,  I  understand  you  to 
say?  " — and  he  of  erudition  was  equal  to  a  covert 
sneer — "  just  what  has  she  to  do  with  it,  please?  " 

"  She  has  everything  to  do  with  it.  In  the  first 
place,  she  is  rather  interested  in  Dr.  Hubers.  Then 
she's  a  remarkable  woman.  Needs  to  freshen  up  on 
some  things,  needs  quite  a  little  coaching,  in  fact ; 
but  in  my  judgment  the  best  way  for  Hubers  to 
go  on  with  his  work — you  didn't  think  for  a  moment 
he  was  out  of  it,  did  you? — is  for  his  wife  to  get  in 


THE    GLORY    OF    THE*   CONQUERED 

shape  to  work  with  him.  That  can  be  arranged  all 
right?  "  he  concluded  pleasantly. 

Then  Dr.  George  Lane  spoke  with  the  authority 
in  him  vested.  "  It  certainly  can  not,"  he  said,  with 
an  icy  decisiveness. 

"But  why  not?"  pursued  Parkman,  innocently. 

"  Oh,  now,  don't  misunderstand  me,  Professor.  I 
didn't  for  a  minute  expect  that  you  were  to  give  any 
of  your  valuable  time  to  Mrs.  Hubers.  Hastings  is 
the1  fellow  I'd  like  her  turned  over  to.  He's  a  friend 
of  mine,  and  he's  in  sympathy,  you  know,  with  Dr. 
Hubers'  work.  All  you'll  have  to  do  is  to  tell  Hast 
ings  to  do  it,"  explained  the  doctor,  expansively. 

The  head  of  the  department  quite  gleamed  with 
the  pride  of  authority  as  he  pronounced :  "  Which 
you  may  be  very  certain  I  shall  not  do." 

"  No  ?  "  said  Parkman,  leaning  over  the  desk  a 
little  and  looking  at  him.  "  You  say — no?  " 

"  I  do,"  replied  the  man  in  authority,  with  brev 
ity,  emphasis  and  finality. 

Dr.  Parkman  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  seemed 
to  be  in  deep  thought.  "  Then  the  popular  idea  is 
all  wrong,  isn't  it?  " 

"  I  am  at  a  loss  to  know  to  what  popular  idea  you 
refer,"  said  the  professor,  with  a  suitable  indifference. 

"  Oh  merely  to  the  popular  idea  that  this  place 
amounts  to  something;  that  it  has  let  go  of  a  little 
medievalism,  and  is  more  than  a  crude,  cheap  pat 
tern — funny  what  ideas  people  get,  isn't  it?  Now 
there  are  people  who  think  the  university  here  puts 
a  value  on  individuality,  that  it  would  actually  bend 
a  rule  or  two  to  fit  an  individual  case,  in  fact  that  it 


DR.    PARKMAN'S    WAY  219 

likes  initiative,  encourages  originality,  wouldn't  in 
the  least  mind  having  a  few  actual  achievements  to 
its  credit." 

"  At  the  same  time,"  goaded  from  his  icy  calm — 
"it  does  not  propose  to  make  itself  ridiculous !  " 

"  And  doing  a  rather  unconventional  thing,  in 
order  to  bring  about  a  very  great  thing,  would  be 
making  itself  ridiculous,  would  it?  " 

"  I  fail  to  see  how  anything  so  preposterous  could 
bring  about  good  results,"  said  the  man  in  authority, 
introducing  into  that  a  note  of  dismissal. 

"Do  you?"  replied  Parkman,  not  yet  dismissed. 
"Well,  if  you  will  pardon  a  little  more  plain  speak 
ing,  I  will  say  that  this  is  something  I  know  a  good 
deal  more  about  than  you  do." 

"  We  have  made  other  arrangements  for  the  labor 
atory,"  and  the  professor  picked  up  a  paper  from 
his  desk  and  looked  it  over,  nice  subtilties  evidently 
being  lost. 

"So?  Going  to  give  it  to  some  fellow  who  will 
devote  himself,  after  the  fashion  of  university  men, 
to  verifying  other  men's  conclusions?  v 

Then  Dr.  Parkman  rose.  "Well,"  he  said, 
"  you've  had  your  chance.  You  had  a  chance  to  do 
something  which  would  give  this  place  an  excuse  for 
existing.  I'm  sorry  you  weren't  big  enough  to 
take  it. 

"  I  fear  medical  men  may  feel  some  little  prejudice 
about  this,"  he  remarked,  easily — not  in  the  least 
as  though  dealing  in  heavy  ammunition.  "  Hubers 
commands  the  medical  men,  you  know.  They  care 
jnore  for  him  than  for  all  the  rest  of  the  fellows  out 


THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

here  put  together.  About  that  medical  school  of 
yours,"  he  said,  meditatively,  "  that  you're  pushing 
so  hard  just  now, — to  whom  shall  I  tender  my  resig 
nation  as  chairman  of  the  committee  I'm  on?  And, 
at  the  same  time,  I'll  just  be  released  from  the  lec 
tures  I  was  to  give  in  the  winter  quarter.  I'm  en 
tirely  too  busy  to  spend  my  time  on  a  place  that 
doesn't  care  for  anything  but  dead  men's  bones. 
Lewis  and  Richmond  will  probably  want  to  pull  out 
too.  Of  course,"  he  went  on,  seemingly  to  himself, 
"  a  thing  like  this  will  unfortunately  be  noised  about, 
and  all  doctors  will  be  a  little  sore  about  your  not 
caring  to  stand  by  Hubers.  But  I  suppose  I  had 
better  see  the  president  about  all  that.  He  gets 
home  next  week?  And,  come  to  think  of  it,  I'm 
pretty  close  to  a  couple  of  members  of  the  board. 
I  operated  on  both  Lessing  and  Tyler.  Both  of  those 
fellows  have  a  notion  they  owe  their  lives  to  me. 
That  makes  people  feel  rather  close  to  one,  you  know. 
But  then,  of  course,  you  don't  know — why  should 
you?  And,  dear  me — there's  that  rich  old  patient 
of  mine,  Burley.  Now  isn't  it  strange," — turning 
genially  to  Lane,  as  if  merely  interesting  him  in  a 
philosophical  proposition — "how  one  thing  leads  to 
another?  I  fear  Burley  may  not  be  so  interested  in 
making  that  gift  to  the  new  medical  building,  if  he 
knows  I've  cut  loose  from  the  place.  The  president 
will  feel  rather  sore  about  that,  too, — you  know  how 
the  president  is  about  such  things.  But  then," — 
shrugging  his  shoulders  indifferently — "  he  needn't 
feel  sore  at  me." 


DR.    PARKMAN'S    WAY 

Dr.  George  Lane  was  swallowing  very  hard. 
Though  learned,  he  was  not  dull.  Word  by  word  he 
had  drunk  in  the  bitter  truth  that  this  big,  dark, 
gruff,  ill-mannered  man  was  not  to  be  put  down  with 
impunity.  Call  it  bullying — any  hard  name  you 
would,  there  was  no  evading  the  fact  that  it  was 
power  in  sledge  hammer  strokes.  "  The  professor  " 
was  just  wise  enough  to  see  that  there  lay  before 
him  the  unpleasant  task  of  retraction. 

"  Ah — of  course,  doctor,"  he  began,  striving  for 
nonchalance,  "  do  not  take  this  as  too  final.  You 
see  anything  so  unusual  as  this  will  have  to  come  be 
fore  the  committee.  You  did  not  present  it  to  me— 
ah — very  fully,  but  the  more  I  consider  it,  the 
more  I  am  disposed  to  think  it  is  a  thing  we — may 
care  to  undertake.  I — will  present  it." 

"Oh,  don't  bother  about  that,"  said  the  doctor 
pleasantly.  "  I  wouldn't  worry  the  committee  about 
it,  if  I  were  you.  I  can  get  a  down-town  laboratory 
all  right.  I  simply  thought  I  would  give  the  uni 
versity  a  chance  at  the  thing.  It  doesn't  matter," 
he  concluded,  opening  the  door. 

"  Well  now,  I'll  tell  you,  doctor,"  said  Lane,  and 
part  of  his  face  was  white,  and  part  of  it  was  red, 
"  while  you're  out  here,  you  would  better  go  up  and 
see  Hastings.  I'm  sure  I  can  say — speaking  for  the 
committee — that  we  will  be  very  glad  to  have  Mrs. 
Hubers  here." 

"  I  fired  his  soul  all  right,"  thought  the  doctor, 
grimly,  as  he  walked  up  to  find  Hastings.  "  Those, 
little  two  by  fours !  " 


CHAPTER    XXVI 
OLD-FASHIONED  LOVE 

KARL'S  new  secretary  was  what  Karl  him 
self  called  "  one  of  those  philosophical 
ducks."  "  That  is,"  he  explained  to  Ernes 
tine,  "  he  is  one  of  those  fellows  who  has 
been  graduated  from  science  into  philosophy." 

"  But  wouldn't  you  get  on  better  with  one  of  the 
scientific  students  who  hadn't  been  graduated  yet?  " 
she  laughed. 

"  Oh,  no ;  no,  I  don't  mind  having  a  graduate. 
Ross  can  do  the  work  all  right.  I'm  lucky  to  get  him. 
There  aren't  many  of  them  who  are  stenographers, 
and  then  he  can  give  me  most  of  his  time.  He's  fin 
ishing  up  for  his  Ph.D." 

"  And  was  he  really  a  student  of  science  in  the  be 
ginning?  " 

"  Well,  after  a  fashion.  The  kind  that  is  gradu 
ated  into  philosophy." 

"  Karl,"  she  laughed,  "  despite  your  proud  boast 
to  the  contrary,  you're  bigoted.  It's  the  bigotry  of 
science." 

"  No,  it's  having  science  patronised  by  these  fel 
lows  who  don't  know  anything  about  it.  If  they'd 
once  roll  up  their  sleeves  and  do  some  actual  work 
they'd  give  up  that  idea  of  being  so  easily  graduated. 
222 


OLD-FASHIONED    LOVE 

But  they  want  to  get  where  they'll  not  have  to  work. 
Philosophy's  a  lazy  man's  job." 

"  There  you  go  again !  A  clear  case  of  the  scien 
tific  arrogance." 

«  No,  they  amuse  me ;  that's  all.  '  I  had  a  great 
deal  of  science  in  my  undergraduate  work,'  Mr.  Ross 
said, '  but  I  feel  now  that  I  want  to  go  into  the  larger 
field  of  philosophy.'  " 

"  Karl,"  she  laughed,  a  little  amused  and  a  little 
indignant,  "did  he  actually  say  that  to  you?'5 

"  He  actually  did.  And  with  the  pleasantest,  most 
off-hand  air.  It  was  on  the  tip  of  my  tongue  to  re 
ply:  'Fortunately,  science  never  loses  anything  in 
these  people  she  graduates  so  easily  into  philoso- 

"  I  wonder  what  they  think,"  he  went  on,  "  when 
we  turn  them  upside  down  two  or  three  times  a  cen 
tury?  It  doesn't  seem  to  worry  them  any.  'Give 
me  some  eggs  and  some  milk  and  some  sugar  and  I'll 
make  a  nice  pudding,'  they  say— that's  about  what 
goes  into  a  pudding,  isn't  it?  And  then  they  take 
the  stuff  in  very  thankless  fashion,  and  when  their 
pudding  is  done,  they  say—'  Isn't  it  pathetic  the  way 
some  people  spend  their  lives  producing  nothing  but 
eggs  and  milk  and  sugar? '  And  the  worst  of  it  is 
that  half  the  time  they  spoil  our  good  stuff  by  put 
ting  it  together  wrong." 

"  Such  a  waste  of  good  eggs  and  milk  and  sugar," 
she  laughed. 

"  But  fortunately  it  is  a  superior  kind  of  eggs  and 
inilk  and  sugar  that  can't  be  hurt  by  being  thrown 


THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

together  wrong.  The  pudding  is  bad,  but  the  good 
stuff  in  it  is  indestructible.  And  as  we  don't  have  to 
sit  down  to  their  table,  why  should  we  worry  over 
their  failures  ?  " 

"Why,  indeed?  But  then,  I  don't  agree  that  all 
puddings  are  bad." 

"  No,  not  all  of  them.  But  it  rubs  me  the  wrong 
way  to  see  bad  cooks  take  such  liberties  with  their 
materials." 

"  Because  good  eggs  and  milk  and  sugar  aren't  so 
easy  to  produce,"  she  agreed. 

"  Some  of  us  have  paid  a  pretty  good  price  for 
them,"  he  said. 

That  turned  them  to  the  things  always  close  to 
them,  and  they  were  silent  for  a  time.  It  was  Satur 
day  evening,  and  on  Monday  Ernestine  would  begin 
her  new  work.  Dr.  Parkman  had  arranged  it  for  her 
— she  did  not  know  how,  but  it  had  been  done, 
and  Professor  Hastings,  who  would  have  her  in 
charge,  was  eager  to  give  all  possible  help.  That 
day,  while  Karl  was  busy,  she  had  been  reading  a  book 
Dr.  Parkman  had  given  her.  He  would  keep  her  sup 
plied  with  the  best  things  for  her  to  read,  he  said, 
selecting  that  which  was  vital,  so  that  she  would  not 
waste  time  blundering  through  Karl's  library  at  ran 
dom.  Dr.  Parkman  was  being  so  splendid  about  it 
all.  He  was  a  man  to  give  himself  to  a  thing  with 
out  reservations ;  if  he  helped  at  all  he  made  his  help 
count  to  the  uttermost.  She  felt  him  back  of  her 
as  a  force  which  would  not  fail.  And  she  would  show 
him  his  confidence  was  not  misplaced — his  support 


OLD-FASHIONED    LOVE  225 

not  given  to  a  vain  cause!  Resolution  strengthened 
within  her  as  the  way  was  cleared.  Unconsciously  she 
caught  Karl's  hand  and  held  it  tight  in  both  of  hers. 

"  You  know,  liebchen,"  he  said,  caressing  her  hand 
in  response,  "  I've  done  considerable  thinking  of  late. 
Perhaps  a  fellow  thinks  more  about  things  when  he 
is  not  right  in  them,  and  it  seemed  to  me  to-day,  when 
I  was  thinking  over  these  things  suggested  by  Ross, 
that  the  reason  most  people  don't  get  on  better  with 
their  work  is  just  because  they  don't  care  for  it 
enough.  You  have  to  love  a  thing  to  do  much  with 
it.  Take  it  in  any  kind  of  scientific  work;  the  work 
is  hard,  there  is  detail,  drudgery,  and  discourage 
ment.  You're  going  to  lose  heart  and  grip  unless 
you  have  that  enthusiasm  for  the  thing  as  a  whole. 
You  must  see  it  big,  and  have  that — well,  call  it 
fanaticism,  if  you  want  to — a  willingness  to  give 
yourself  up  to  it,  at  any  rate.  The  reason  these  fel 
lows  want  to  get  into  the  '  bigger  field  of  philosophy  ' 
is  because  they've  never  known  anything  about  the 
bigger  field  of  science." 

She  loved  that  fire  in  his  voice,  that  rare,  fine  light 
which  at  times  like  this  shone  from  his  face.  In  such 
moments,  he  seemed  a  man  set  apart ;  as  one  divinely 
appointed.  It  filled  her  heart  with  a  warm,  glad 
rush  to  think  it  was  she  would  bring  him  bacjt  to  his 
own.  It  was  she  would  reseat  Karl  on  his  throne. 
And  what  awaited  him  then?  Might  not  his  possi 
bilities  be  greater  than  ever  before?  Would  not  de 
termination  rise  in  him  with  new  tremendousness,  and 
would  not  hope,  after  its  rebirth  in  despair,  soar  to 


THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

undreamed  of  heights  ?  Would  not  the  meditation  of 
these  days,  the  new  understanding  rising  from  relin- 
quishment  and  suffering,  bring  him  back  to  his  work 
a  scientist  who  was  also  philosopher  ? 

She  believed  that  that  would  be  true,  that  the 
things  his  blindness  taught  him  to  see  would  more 
than  atone  for  the  things  shut  away.  And  would  not 
she  herself  come  to  love  the  work  just  because  of  what 
it  meant  to  Karl?  Care  for  it  because  of  what  it 
could  do  for  him  ?  Loving  it  first  because  he  loved  it, 
would  not  she  come  to  love  it  for  itself  ? 

A  quiver  of  pain  had  drawn  the  beautiful  light 
from  his  face.  "  Tell  me  about  your  work,  dear," 
he  said  abruptly.  "  You  haven't  said  much  about  it 
of  late." 

She  turned  away  her  face.  She  was  always  forget 
ting  that  he  could  not  see  her  face. 

"  You  know  you  must  get  to  work,  sweetheart," 
he  went  on  as  she  did  not  answer.  "  I  am  expecting 
great  things  of  my  little  girl." 

"  I  hope  you  will  not  be  disappointed,"  she  an 
swered,  very  low. 

"  Of  course  I'll  not  be — if  you  just  get  to  work. 
Now  when  are  you  going  to  begin?  " 

"  I'm  going  to  begin  Monday,"  replied  Ernestine. 

"  Good!     Painting  some  great  picture?" 

She  hesitated.    "  I  hope  it  will  be  a  great  picture." 

"  Tell  me  about  it." 

"  I  can  tell  you  better,  dear,  when  it  is  a  little  far 
ther  along." 

"  You  love  your  work,  Ernestine.     You  have  the. 


OLD-FASHIONED    LOVE  227 

real,  true,  fundamental  love  for  it.  I  always  loved 
to  see  your  face  light  up  when  you  spoke  of  your 
work.  Is  your  face  lighted  up  now?  "  he  asked,  a  lit 
tle  whimsically,  but  earnestly. 

She  laughed,  but  the  laugh  caught  in  her  throat. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  about  your  picture  as  it  pro 
gresses,  dear?  Don't  be  afraid  to  talk  to  me  of  your 
work,  Ernestine.  Things  will  be  less  hard  for  me, 
if  I  think  you  are  happy.  And  it  will  be  good  to 
know  there  is  to  be  some  great  thing  come  of  our  love, 
dear.  I  want  something  to  stand  for  it,  something 
beautiful  and  great." 

"  There  will  be !  "  she  said  passionately.  "  There 
is  going  to  be." 

"  I  know,"  he  said  gently.     "  I  am  sure  of  it." 

He  stroked  her  face  lovingly  then.  He  loved  so 
to  do  that. 

"  Will  you  mind  much,  Karl,"  she  began,  a  little 
timidly,  "  if  I  am  away  from  you  some  this  year?  " 

"Away  from  me?"  he  asked,  startled.  "Why, 
what  do  you  mean,  Ernestine?  " 

"  Oh,  not  that  I  am  going  away,"  she  hastened. 
"  But,  as  I  say,  I  am  going  to  begin  my  work  on 
Monday,  and  part  of  the  time  I  shall  be  working 
away  from  home." 

"  You  mean  in  some  studio  ?  " 

Her  face  grew  troubled;  she  frowned  a  little,  bit 
her  lip,  but  after  a  second's  hesitation,  answered: 
"  Yes." 

"  Found  some  fellow  to  study  with  ?  " 

And  again  she  answered  yes. 


228  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

"  Well  now  look  here,  liebchen,  have  I  been  such  a 
brute  that  you  thought  I  wouldn't  want  you  to  set 
foot  out  of  the  house?  I  didn't  suppose  there  was 
anyone  here  you'd  have  much  to  gain  from,  but  if 
there  is,  so  much  the  better.  I  want  you  to  go  right 
ahead  and  do  your  best — don't  you  know  that?  " 

But  there  was  a  note  of  forced  cheer  in  it.  It  would 
be  hard  for  Karl  to  feel  she  was  not  in  the  house, 
when  he  had  come  to  depend  on  her  for  so  many 
things.  She  could  not  tell  him  why  she  was  willing 
to  be  away  from  him.  It  hurt  her  to  think  he  might 
feel  she  did  not  understand. 

A  little  later  Georgia  and  her  mother  and  Georgia's 
Mr.  Tank  came  over  to  see  them.  During  the  sum 
mer  Ernestine  and  Karl  had  been  bestowing  an  ap 
proving  interest  on  Georgia  and  Joseph  Tank.  Karl 
liked  him ;  he  said  the  fellow  laughed  as  though  there 
was  no  reason  why  he  shouldn't.  "  He  doesn't  know 
everything,"  he  told  Ernestine,  "  but  knows  too  much 
to  seem  to  know  what  he  doesn't." 

Georgia  had  been  disposed  to  be  apologetic  about 
Mr.  Tank's  paper  bags,  and  Karl  had  retorted: 
"  Great  Scott,  Georgia,  is  there  anything  the  world 
needs  much  worse  than  paper  bags  ?  " 

To-night  Mr.  Tank  was  all  enthusiasm  about  a 
ball  game  he  had  attended  that  afternoon.  He  gave 
Karl  the  story  of  the  game  in  the  picturesque  fashion 
of  a  man  more  eager  to  express  what  he  wishes  to  say 
than  to  guard  the  purity  of  his  English.  "  Oh,  it 
was  hot  stuff,  clear  through,"  he  concluded.  "  Bully 
good  game !  " 


OLD-FASHIONED    LOVE  229 

"  It  is  sometimes  almost  impossible  for  me  to  tell 
what  Georgia  and  Mr.  Tank  are  talking  about," 
sighed  Mrs.  McCormick.  "  They  use  so  many  words 
which  are  not  in  the  dictionary.  Now  when  people 
confine  themselves  to  words  which  are  in  the  diction 
ary,  I  am  always  able  to  ascertain  their  meaning." 

''  I'm  long  for  saying  a  thing  the  way  I  can  get  it 
said,"  laughed  Tank.  "  And  I'm  long  for  -this  new 
spelling.  I  never  could  get  next  to  the  old  system, 
and  now  if  they  push  this  deal  through,  I  can  pat 
myself  on  the  back  and  say,  '  Good  fcr  you,  old  boy. 
You  were  just  waiting  for  them  to  start  in  right.'  It 
would  be  such  a  good  one  on  the  teachers  who  bumped 
my  head  against  the  wall  because  I  didn't  begin  pneu 
monia  with  a  p  and  every  other  minute  run  in  an  i  or 
an  e  I  had  sense  enough  to  know  had  no  business 
there  at  all.  Oh,  I'm  long  for  taking  a  fall  out  of 
the  old  spelling  book." 

"  I  do  hope,  Karl,"  admonished  Mrs.  McCormick, 
"  that  you  will  use  your  influence  with  scholars  to  see 
that  the  dictionary  is  let  alone.  It  is  certainly  a  very 
profane  and  presumptuous  thing  to  think  of  chang 
ing  a  dictionary," — turning  to  Ernestine  for  ap 
proval. 

"  When  I  was  a  child,"  observed  Georgia,  "  I  had 
a  sublime  and  unquestioning  faith  in  two  things, — 
the  Bible  and  the  dictionary.  The  Bible  was  written 
by  God  and  the  dictionary  by  Noah  Webster,  and 
both  were  to  remain  intact  to  the  end  of  time.  But 
the  University  of  Chicago  is  re-writing  the  Bible, 
and  'most  any  one  who  feels  like  it  can  take  a  hand  at 


230  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

the  dictionary,  so  what  is  there  left  for  a  poor  girl 
to  believe  in  ?  " 

"  Believe  in  the  American  dollar,"  said  Tank  cheer 
fully.  "  That's  the  solidest  thing  I've  ever  been 
up  against." 

Mrs.  McCormick  left  them  to  call  upon  a  friend 
who  lived  next  door,  Karl  and  Mr.  Tank  turned  to 
frenzied  finance,  and  Georgia  and  Ernestine  wan 
dered  away  by  themselves — Ernestine  surmised  that 
Georgia  wanted  to  talk  to  her. 

"  How  goes  it  at  The  Mail?  "  she  asked. 

"Oh— so  so,"  said  Georgia  fretfully.  "News 
paper  work  is  a  thankless  job." 

"  Why,  Georgia,  I  thought  you  loved  it  so." 

"  Oh,  yes, — yes,  in  a  way,  I  do.  But  it's  thankless. 
[And  you  never  get  anywhere.  You  break  your  neck 
one  day,  and  then  there's  nothing  to  do  the  next, 
but  start  in  and  break  it  again.  You're  never  any 
better  to-day  for  yesterday's  killing.  Now  with  you 
— when  you  paint  a  good  picture,  it  stays  painted." 

"Why  don't  you  get  married?  "  asked  Ernestine, 
innocently. 

"  Married !     Pooh — that  would  be  a  nice  thing ! " 

"  Indeed  it  would.     If  you  care  for  the  man." 

Georgia  was  fidgeting ;  it  was  plain  she  wanted  to 
talk  about  marriage,  if  she  could  do  so  without  seem 
ing  to  be  vitally  interested  in  the  subject. 

"  I  mean  it,  Georgia,"  Ernestine  went  on.  "  If 
you  care  for  him,  marry  him." 

"  Care  for  whom  ?  "  Georgia  demanded,  and  then 
coloured  and  laughed  at  the  folly  of  her  evasion. 


OLD-FASHIONED    LOVE 

"  Well,  the  fact  of  the  matter  Is,"  she  finally  blurted 
out,  "  I  don't  know  whether  I  do  or  not.  Now,  in  a 
way,  I  do.  That  is,  I  want  him  to  care  for  me,  and  I 
shouldn't  like  it  if  he  sailed  away  to  the  Philippine 
Islands  and  never  showed  up  again,  but  at  the  same 
time  — well,  I  don't  think  even  you  could  get  up  much 
sentiment  about  paper  bags,  and  besides " — tem 
pestuously — "  the  name  Tank's  preposterous  !  " 

Ernestine  laughed.  "  What  are  those  terms  the 
lawyers  are  so  fond  of — immaterial,  irrelevant,  and 
something  else?  Georgia,  once  when  I  was  a  little 
girl  and  went  to  visit  my  grandmother,  I  had  a  stub 
born  fit  and  wouldn't  eat  any  dinner  because  the  din 
ing-room  table  had  such  ugly  legs.  And  the  dinner, 
Georgia,  was  good." 

It  was  Georgia  who  laughed  then.  "  But  Ernes 
tine"-— with  a  swift  turn  to  seriousness — "you're 
not  a  fair  sample;  you  and  Karl  are — exceptional. 
You  see  you  have  so  much — intellectual  companion 
ship — sympathetic  ideas — kindred  tastes — don't  you 
see  what  a  fool  I'd  make  of  myself  in  judging  the 
thing  by  you?  "—she  ended  with  a  little  gulp  which 
might  have  been  a  laugh  or  might  have  been  some 
thing  else. 

Ernestine  was  giving  some  affectionate  rubs  to  her 
brass  coffee  pot.  When  she  raised  her  head  it  was  to 
look  at  Georgia  strangely.  She  continued  to  look, 
and  the  strangeness  about  her  intensified.  "  Shall  I 
tell  you  something,  Georgia?  "—her  voice  low  and 
queer.  "  Something  I  know?  You  wouldn't  be  will 
ing  to  fight  'till  you  dropped  for  sympathetic  ideas. 


THE    GLORY    OF    THE'    CONQUERED 

You  wouldn't  be  willing  to  lay  down  your  life  for  in 
tellectual  companionship.  You  wouldn't  be  willing 
to  go  barefoot  and  hungry  and  friendless  for  kindred 
tastes.  Don't  for  one  minute  believe  you  would !  The 
only  thing  for  which  you'd  be  willing  to  let  the  whole 
world  slip  away  from  you  is  an  old-fashioned,  out- 
of-date  thing  called  love — just  the  primitive,  funda 
mental  love  there  is  between  a  man  and  a  woman.  If 
you  haven't  it,  Georgia — hold  back.  If  you  have," — 
a  wonderful  smile  of  understanding  glowed  through 
a  rush  of  tears — "  oh,  Georgia,  if  you  have!  " 


CHAPTER    XXVII 

LEARNING  TO  BE  KARL'S  EYES 

SHE  wondered  many  times  in  the  next  few 
months  why  she  had  put  it  in  that  very  simple, 
self-evident  way. 

For  there  are  things  harder  than  to  go 
barefoot  and  hungry  and  friendless.  Those  are  the 
primitive  things,  to  be  met  with  one's  endowment  of 
primitive  courage,  elemental  strength.  But  poise  of 
spirit  can  not  be  wrested  from  elemental  courage. 
To  carry  one's  carefully  wrapped  up  burden  with 
the  nonchalance  of  the  day — nature  forgot  to  make 
endowment  for  that ;  it  is  something  then  to  be  worked 
out  wholly  by  one's  self. 

Persecution  she  could  have  endured  like  a  Spartan ; 
but  it  was  almost  unendurable  to  be  tolerated.  She 
was  sure  it  would  have  been  easier  if  only  they  had 
been  rude  to  her.  To  be  openly  jeered  at  would  fire 
her  soul.  But  there  was  so  little  in  their  manner 
either  to  kindle  enthusiasm  or  stir  aggressiveness. 
She  began  to  think  that  the  most  trying  thing  in  the 
world  was  to  have  people  polite  to  one. 

The  very  first  week  was  the  worst  of  all.  No  one 
knew  what  to  do  with  her ;  as  this  was  her  own  idea, 
an  idea  no  one  else  pretended  to  understand,  it  was 
expected  she  make  some  suggestions  for  the  proper 
disposition  of  herself.  But  poor  Ernestine  did  not 

233 


THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

know  enough  about  It  to  make  disposition  of  herself. 
She  could  only  smile  with  a  courageous  serenity,  and 
ask  that  she  be  shown  how  to  help  about  things. 
And  so  Mr.  Willard,  who  was  in  charge  of  Karl's 
laboratory,  and  who  was  Karl  without  Karl's  genius, 
turned  her  over  to  Mr.  Beason,  his  assistant.  Beason 
would  show  her  how  to  "  help." 

Her  sense  of  humour  helped  her  there.  It  was 
amusing  that  one  who  was  learning  to  "  help  "  should 
be  such  an  encumbrance.  And  there  were  many  amus 
ing  things  about  Mr.  Beason.  He  was  afraid  of  her 
because  she  was  a  woman,  for  like  reason  disapprov 
ing  of  her  presence  in  the  laboratory,  and  yet  there 
was  an  unconscious  deference,  the  same  kind  of  ven 
eration  he  would  have  paid  Karl's  old  coat,  or  his 
pipe. 

John  Beason  had  never  been  shaken  by  a  genuine 
emotion  until  the  day  he  read  that  Dr.  Karl  Hubers 
had  lost  his  eyesight  and  must  give  up  his  work.  In 
the  horror,  the  rage  and  the  grief  which  swept  over 
him  then,  Beason  rose  to  the  heights  of  a  human  being, 
never  to  be  quite  without  humanship  again.  When 
he  came  back  that  fall,  Professor  Hastings  was  quick 
to  sense  the  change. 

Beason  was  given  a  place  in  Dr.  Hubers'  old  lab 
oratory,  as  one  of  Mr.  Willard's  assistants.  That 
first  morning,  after  he  had  been  in  there  about  an 
hour,  he  came  out  to  Professor  Hastings,  who  chanced 
to  be  alone. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  I  want  to  stay  in  there  or 
not,"  the  boy  jerked  out. 


LEARNING   TO   BE    KARL'S   EYES     235 

He  told  him  that  Dr.  Hubers  would  like  to  have 
him  there.  "  You  know  he  liked  you,"  he  said  simply. 

Beason  sat  a  long  time  pondering.  "  Well,  they'll 
never  have  another  man  like  him,"  he  said  at  last,  sav 
agely,  and  choking  a  little. 

After  the  first  few  weeks  his  attitude  toward  Ernes 
tine  took  on  a  complexity  an  analysis  of  which  would 
have  greatly  astounded  Mr.  Beason  himself.  He  did 
a  great  deal  of  pondering  as  to  whether  it  would 
really  be  possible  for  Dr.  Hubers  to  go  on  with  his 
work.  It  seemed  to  him  it  would  not  be,  but  a  few 
things  Mrs.  Hubers  had  said  in  a  very  simple  way 
had  opened  up  a  great  deal  of  speculation  as  to  what 
was  possible  and  what  was  not.  And  the  thing  which 
made  him  grow  so  quickly  into  an  unconscious  re 
spect  for  her  was  her  assumption  that  the  most  im 
portant  thing  in  the  world  was  that  Dr.  Hubers 
should  go  on  with  his  work.  Now  that  looked  as 
though  she  had  some  sense,  Beason  admitted.  Of 
course  the  ridiculous  part  was  thinking  she  was  the 
one  to  bring  it  about,  when  anybody  would  know  it 
would  have  to  be  some  one — well,  some  one  like  him 
self.  But  then  it  was  just  like  a  woman  to  think  she 
could  do  anything  she  took  it  into  her  head  to  do. 
Of  course  she  would  very  soon  find  out  that  she 
couldn't,  but  if  she  proved  some  one  else  could,  why 
then  she  wouldn't  be  so  bad,  after  all. 

Ernestine  was  quick  to  see  that  the  way  to  enlist 
Mr.  Beason  was  to  talk  to  him  about  Karl.  They 
were  alone  in  the  laboratory  for  an  hour  each  morn 
ing,  and  during  that  period  she  always  managed  to 


236  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

say  something  about  Dr.  Hubers  to  leave  Beason 
closer  to  her  at  the  end  of  the  hour  than  he  had  been 
at  the  beginning.  There  were  more  ways  than  one 
of  winning  a  scientific  victory,  she  concluded,  half 
humorously,  but  with  a  touch  of  sadness.  She  was 
beginning  to  see  that  it  was  a  battle  which  demanded 
tact  and  diplomacy  quite  as  much  as  brains  and  skill. 
She  must  not  only  furnish  enthusiasm  for  herself,  she 
must  inspire  all  associated  with  her  if  she  were  to  gain 
from  them  what  they  had  to  give. 

It  was  after  she  had  one  day  spoken  with  unusual 
freedom  of  the  suffering  which  surged  beneath  Karl's 
calm  acceptance  of  the  inevitable  that  Beason  took 
his  first  firm  stand  in  her  behalf. 

"Well  now,  of  course,"  he  conceded,  after  a  long 
time  of  turning  it  over  in  his  mind,  "  you  really  don't 
have  to  know  much,  do  you?  The  great  thing  for 
you  to  learn  is  to  tell  exactly  how  results  look.  It 
isn't  as  if  you  had  to  reason  and  think," — that  was 
Season's  supreme  rise  to  graciousness. 

"  Why,  you  have  the  idea  exactly,  Mr.  Beason," 
she  replied,  admiringly,  and  Beason  grasped  that  he 
had  manifested  rare  insight. 

"  Well  now," — doubtfully — "  I  suppose  you  might 
practice  on  me.  Practice  is  what  you  need.  I  haven't 
looked  at  any  of  those  things  over  there.  See  if  you 
can  give  me  an  idea  of  what  they  are." 

She  did  her  best,  blundering  freely,  and  thinking 
with  an  inward  smile  that  she  had  not  counted  on 
anything  so  difficult  as  translating  things  to  Beason. 

Then  he  took  the  tube  from  her  hand  and  explained 


LEARNING   TO   BE    KARL'S   EYES     237 

how  she  had  failed  to  get  the  significant  things,  and 
how  valueless  she  would  be  unless  she  made  the  deter 
mining  points  stand  out.  He  was  very  blunt  and 
unflattering,  but  she  was  grateful  to  him  from  the 
bottom  of  her  heart.  "  You  see  you  do  have  to  have 
some  brains  after  all,"  he  concluded  with  a  sigh. 

But  after  that  he  frequently  devoted  his  entire 
hour  to  helping  her.  He  had  come  to  accept  her  as 
one  of  his  duties,  and  Beason  was  not  one  to  neglect 
his  appointed  task.  Day  by  day  she  gained  a  great 
deal  from  the  uncompromising  Mr.  Beason. 

In  fact,  after  those  first  uncertain  weeks,  she  gained 
a  great  deal  from  every  one.  Gradually  it  began  to 
systematise  itself,  and  Ernestine's  good  sense,  her 
earnestness,  which  was  fairly  devotion,  her  respect  for 
every  one's  knowledge  and  gratitude  for  all  help — 
to  say  nothing  of  her  eyes  and  smile  and  voice — slowly 
penetrated  even  the  conservatism  of  science. 

Dr.  Parkman  did  not  neglect  her.  He  came  out 
often  and  spent  an  hour  in  the  laboratory,  bringing 
things  for  her  to  work  with.  Perhaps  the  doctor  saw 
that  quite  as  much  as  his  help,  she  needed  the  pres 
tige  his  attention  would  give.  It  was  no  small  thing 
to  have  the  great  Dr.  Parkman  giving  her  his  time. 
"  Upon  my  soul,"  Mr.  Willard  said  one  day,  after 
the  doctor  had  been  there  a  long  time  and  had  seemed 
very  much  in  earnest,  "  I  don't  believe  Parkman's 
the  man  to  spend  his  time  on  a  wild  goose  chase !  " 

"  It  doesn't  seem  so,  does  it?  "  said  Professor  Hast 
ings  ingenuously. 

"  Why,  think  what  that  man's  time  is  worth !  "  con- 


£38    THE    GLORY    OF,    THE1    CONQUERED 

tinued  Mr.  Willard,  growing  more  and  more  im 
pressed. 

"  I  don't  know  any  one  else  out  here  who  would  get 
much  of  it,"  Professor  Hastings  ventured. 

"  Well,  she  is  a  remarkable  woman,"  Willard  said 
then,  insistently. 

And  Professor  Hastings — understanding  many 
things  about  human  beings — said  he  was  really  com 
ing  to  feel  that  way  himself. 

Ernestine  was  alone  in  the  laboratory  one  bright 
morning  in  December.  Mr.  Beason  had  just  gone 
away  after  assuring  her  anew  that  she  had  a  very 
great  deal  to  learn.  Perhaps  it  was  funny,  but  one 
was  not  always  in  the  mood  for  humorous  things. 
Sometimes  one  felt  more  like  putting  one's  head  down 
on  the  table  and  having  a  good  cry.  Her  hands  were 
not  quite  steady,  as  she  went  about  the  work  Bea 
son  had  patronisingly  left  for  her  to  do,  and  out  of 
the  mists  which  blinded  her  there  came  a  picture  of 
her  own  quiet  studio  at  home,  where  she  had  worked 
with  her  own  things,  things  with  which  she  was  su 
preme.  She  saw  herself  at  her  easel,  working  in 
that  quick,  sure  way  of  hers,  no  one  to  tell  her  some 
one  else  could  do  it  a  great  deal  better,  and  that  it 
was  extremely  doubtful  whether  she  could  ever  do 
anything  at  all.  A  longing  to  be  back  there  doing 
the  things  she  knew  she  could  do,  a  longing  to  have 
again  that  sure  sense  of  her  work  as  good,  swept  over 
her  then.  She  was  accustomed  to  a  sense  of  mastery  ; 
it  was  that  made  some  of  these  things  so  hard.  It 
was  not  easy  to  make  over  one's  soul,  even  when  it 


LEARNING   TO   BE   KARL'S   EYES     239 

was  love  called  one  on.  As  she  went  steadily  ahead 
with  her  task,  working  out  painstakingly  the  correc 
tion  Beason  had  made,  she  wondered  whether  there 
were  as  many  tears  back  of  other  smiles  as  there  had 
often  been  back  of  hers. 

But  she  had  been  able  to  smile! — that  was  some 
thing  for  which  to  give  thanks.  Not  even  Karl  him 
self  would  ever  know  what  she  had  gone  through,  but 
what  she  had  gone  through  was  of  small  consequence 
could  she  but  push  her  way  on  to  what  she  was  con 
fident  awaited  her.  There  was  sustaining  power  in 
that  thought:  her  hands  did  not  tremble  now,  her 
eyes  were  clear ;  she  worked  on  steadily  and  firmly. 

One  thing  which  had  unnerved  her  was  that  Karl 
had  seemed  to  hate  to  have  her  go  away  that  morn 
ing.  He  had  followed  her  out  into  the  hall.  "  Work 
ing  so  hard,  liebchen?  "  he  said — and  was  it  not  wist 
fully?  Perhaps  he  had  not  felt  like  work  himself  and 
had  wanted  her  to  stay  at  home  with  him.  It  hurt 
cruelly  to  think  Karl  might  not  understand  her  wil 
lingness  to  be  away  from  him  so  much. 

His  presence  was  always  with  her  in  the  labora 
tory.  The  days  brought  a  very  clear  picture  of  Karl 
at  work  there,  a  new  understanding  of  his  adjust 
ment  to  his  work,  firmer  comprehension  of  his  love 
for  it.  Often  a  sense  of  the  terribleness  and  wrong- 
ness  of  his  disaster  would  rush  over  her,  crowding 
her  heart  with  the  old  rebellion  and  bitterness.  Again 
and  again  she  lived  through  the  hour  Karl  had  spent 
there  alone,  facing  the  truth,  and  then  a  horror  of 
those  things  with  which  she  worked,  those  awful 


240     THE    GLORY    OF    THE1    CONQUERED 

things  which  had  destroyed  Karl's  eyes,  would  take 
hold  of  her  as  a  physical  fear,  a  repulsion,  almost 
impossible  to  fight. 

She  was  constantly  brought  to  see  the  difference 
between  him  and  these  other  men;  every  hour  she 
spent  there  brought  deeper  appreciation  of  Karl's 
greatness,  clearer  sense  of  it.  And  when  their  kindly 
patronage  sometimes  passed  from  the  amusing  to  the 
insufferable,  she  would  think  how  Karl,  master  of 
them  all,  took  her  so  unreservedly  into  his  mind  and 
heart,  cherishing  her  ideas  and  opinions  as  quite  the 
most  vital  things  in  all  the  world,  and  sometimes  that 
would  help  her  to  smile,  and  not  infrequently  it  made 
her  long  to  hurl  a  test-tube  at  the  self-satisfied  head 
of  Mr.  Beason.  But  always,  in  the  end,  it  caused  her 
to  set  her  whole  being  with  new  persistence,  more 
passionate  stubbornness,  in  this  determination  to 
achieve. 

It  was  while  she  was  still  alone  that  Professor 
Hastings  came  in  with  a  note  he  had  just  received 
for  her.  "  It's  from  Dr.  Parkman,"  she  said  as  she 
tore  it  open  hastily. 

She  read  a  little  of  it  and  then  sat  down.  He 
thought  for  a  moment  that  she  was  going  to  cry. 

"  Dr.  Parkman  wants  me  to  come  down  to  one  of 
his  operations  this  afternoon," — she  looked  up  at 
him  appealingly.  "  I — I  never  went  to  anything  like 
that,"  she  added,  with  a  tremulous  laugh. 

"What  does  he  say  about  it?"  he  asked,  anx 
iously. 

"  Merely — merely  that  it  will  be  a  good  cancer 


LEARNING  TO  BE  KARL'S  EYES 

operation,  and  that  I  had  better  begin  on  that  part 
of  the  work.  He  says  he  would  be  willing  to  do  that, 
but  he  thinks  it  will  help  me  to  be  able  to  make  some 
of  the  observations  for  Dr.  Hubers  myself.  I — well, 
it  sometimes  makes  me  sick  to  see  things  I  don't  like," 
— laughing  a  little,  and  plainly  unnerved. 

"Oh,  no,"  he  assured  her;  "it  will  not  be  that 
bad."  But  he  added,  uneasily :  "  Dr.  Parkman  seems 
anxious  for  you  to  come?  " 

"  No,  not  particularly  anxious ;  he  simply  tells  me 
to  be  there  at  two  o'clock." 

"  I  suppose  then  you'd  better  go,"  he  laughed. 
"  You  won't  mind  much.  You  may  to-day,  but  you'll 
become  accustomed  to  it  very  soon.  And  it  is  impor 
tant.  Some  one  else  might  do  it,  but  it  will  help  your 
own  understanding  of  the  subject,  make  your  equip 
ment  that  much  better.  It's  a  great  thing  for  you  to 
have  Dr.  Parkman's  help.  And  he  is  so  pleased  with 
your  progress.  He  told  me  the  other  day  that  he 
thought  it  absolutely  phenomenal  the  way  you  were 
getting  on." 

"  Did  he?  "  she  asked  eagerly,  for  she  had  learned 
to  seize  upon  all  which  would  buoy  her  up. 

"  We  all  think  so,"  he  replied  earnestly.  "  Even 
Mr.  Willard,  who,  as  you  may  have  observed,  is  not 
an  enthusiast,  said  the  other  day  that  you  were  be 
coming  really  useful." 

She  brightened,  and  then  laughed.  She  had  never 
supposed  she  would  be  inordinately  pleased  to  have  a 
man  like  Mr.  Willard  say  she  was  really  useful. 

"  While  Mr.  Beason  Wont  so  far  as  to  assert  that 


THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

you  had  a  general  Intelligence  not  unlike  that  of  a 
man." 

She  laughed  heartily  at  that.  "  Well,  I'm  afraid 
they  won't  think  I  have  the  nerve  or  sense  of  a  man 
when  I  get  in  the  operating  room  this  afternoon," 
she  said  with  a  wry  little  face. 

"  Well,  remember  what  it's  all  for,"  he  said,  in  that 
simple  way  of  his  which  went  so  far  because  it  was  so 
direct,  "  and  remember  that  we  are  all  believing  in 
you." 

In  response  to  that  she  went  back  to  her  work  with 
new  resolution. 

It  was  a  little  before  two  when  her  lagging  foot 
steps  brought  her  in  sight  of  the  hospital.  "  Why, 
I  act  as  though  I  were  going  to  my  own  execution," 
she  told  herself  scornfully.  Ever  since  receiving  the 
note,  she  had  been  trying  not  to  think  about  what 
was  before  her  ;  but  it  was  here  now,  a  fact  to  be  faced. 
Conquering  an  impulse  to  turn  about  and  beat  a 
hasty  retreat,  she  advanced  with  a  brisk  and  busi 
ness-like  air  she  was  sure  would  deceive  the  most 
knowing  of  hospital  attendants. 

They  seemed  to  know  about  her  in  the  office,  and 
took  her  up  to  one  of  the  rooms  adjoining  the  oper 
ating  room.  The  hospital  was  a  very  large  place, 
and  there  were  a  great  many  odours  she  did  not  like. 
She  hated  herself  for  being  so  silly  about  things! 
Through  the  open  door  she  saw  many  faces:  white 
faces,  thin  faces,  faces  drawn  with  pain,  faces  robbed 
of  hope,  faces  fretful,  and  faces  indifferent,  and  she 
caught  sight  of  one  girl  whose  very  happy  eyes 


LEARNING  TO  BE  KARL'S  EYES 

looked  out  from  a  face  which  bore  the  record  of  much 
pain.  A  story  easy  to  read :  she  had  been  very  ill,  but 
now  she  was  getting  well.  And  how  calm  and  well- 
ordered  a  place  it  was — strange  how  they  could  keep 
so  unruffled  a  surface  over  so  turbulent  a  sea ! 

A  nurse  upstairs  said  that  Dr.  Parkman  had  told 
her  to  look  after  Mrs.  Hubers.  She  dressed  her  in  a 
white  gown  and  talked  to  her  pleasantly  about  opera 
tions  in  general.  Ernestine  was  glad  that  this  very 
rational  being  did  not  know  how  hard  she  was  strug 
gling  to  keep  her  teeth  from  chattering. 

In  a  minute,  Dr.  Parkman  himself  came  in,  he,  too, 
in  white  gown,  ready  for  the  operation.  He  looked 
so  strange ;  to  her  nervous  vision,  supernatural,  a 
being  from  other  worlds,  holding  the  destiny  of  this 
one  in  those  strong,  supple,  incisive  fingers.  "  I 
don't  suppose  you'll  enjoy  this  much,"  he  said,  "  but 
you'd  better  get  used  to  them.  Karl  may  need  you  to 
do  some  of  this  for  him,  and  you  wouldn't  like  it  not 
to  be  able  to." 

"  No,  indeed,"  she  replied,  heartily — very  heartily. 
"  I'm  so  glad  to  come." 

He  looked  at  her  in  his  keen,  deep-seeing  way. 
She  had  an  uncomfortable  sense  that  he  had  a  dis 
tinct  impulse  toward  a  smile. 

"  Hughes,  one  of  our  young  doctors,  will  point  out 
a  few  things  to  you  as  we  go  along,  and  I'll  go  over 
it  with  you  afterwards." 

Then  they  went  into  the  operating  room. 

She  fought  hard  against  the  smell  of  ether,  and 
managed  to  hold  herself  quite  firm  against  it.  But 


THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

there  was  a  ghastliness  in  the  whole  thing  which 
frightened  her. 

The  patient  was  lying  there  on  the  operating  table, 
covered  with  sheets,  looking  as  if  dead.  It  was  a 
woman  who  was  to  be  operated  on,  and  Ernestine 
could  not  overcome  the  idea  that  it  was  a  dreadful 
thing  for  her  to  be  there  alone,  surrounded  by  strange 
people  who  were  acting  in  so  unconcerned  a  manner. 
They  did  not  seem  to  be  thinking  in  the  least  of  what 
life  and  death  meant  to  this  woman.  One  young  doc 
tor  was  showing  something  to  another,  and  they 
laughed  right  out  loud !  The  woman  whose  life  was  at 
stake  was  not  impressing  them  any  more  than — not 
any  more  than  that  terrible  looking  little  instrument 
which  the  nurse  handed  to  Dr.  Parkman. 

Her  dizzy  vision  got  Dr.  Parkman's  face  as  he 
leaned  over  his  patient.  She  had  never  seen  such  a 
look  of  concentration;  he  did  not  know  anything  in 
the  world  then  save  the  thing  he  was  doing.  And  the 
concentration  was  enveloped  in  so  tremendous  a  cool 
ness.  But  her  own  face  must  have  warned  the  nurse 
who  was  looking  after  her,  for  she  whispered,  "  Sup 
pose  you  come  over  here  by  the  window  until  they 
have  started.  There  is  no  need  for  you  to  watch 
while  they  are  making  the  incision.5' 

So  she  stood  there  with  her  back  to  them,  looking 
out  at  a  little  park  across  from  the  hospital.  Down 
there,  men  and  women  were  moving  about  quite  as 
usual;  one  girl  was  laughing  very  heartily  about 
something.  Strange  that  people  should  be  laughing ! 

"  Now  you  might  come  over  here,"  said  the  nurse, 


LEARNING    TO    BE    KARL'S    EYES     245 

as  pleasantly  and  easily  as  though  saying,  "  Wouldn't 
you  like  a  cup  of  tea?  " 

She  tried  then  with  all  her  might  to  take  it  as  the 
rest  of  them  were  taking  it.  But  they  were  operat 
ing  on  the  stomach,  and  her  first  glimpse  caused  an 
almost  uncontrollable  sinking  in  the  knees.  Her  ears 
began  to  pound,  but  by  listening  very  hard  she  could 
hear  what  Dr.  Hughes  was  saying.  He  was  saying 
something  about  its  being  a  very  nice  case,  and  she 
wondered  if  the  woman  were  married,  and  if  she  had 
any  children,  and  then  she  knew  how  irrelevant  and 
unprofessional  that  was.  Dr.  Hughes  was  telling 
her  to  look  at  something,  and  she  did  look,  and  she 
saw  Dr.  Parkman's  hands,  only  it  seemed  they  were 
not  human  hands  at  all,  but  some  infallible  instru 
ment,  an  instrument  with  an  unconquerable  soul, — 
and  then  everything  was  dancing  before  her  eyes,  her 
ears  were  pounding  harder  and  harder,  her  knees 
sinking,  everything  swaying,  some  one  had  hold  of 
her,  and  some  one  else,  a  great  many  miles  away  was 
saying — "  Take  her  out ! " 

When  she  opened  her  eyes,  she  was  lying  on  a  couch 
in  an  anteroom,  the  nurse  bending  over  her.  The 
attendant  smiled  pleasantly,  no  more  agitated  than 
before.  "  Too  bad,"  she  said ;  "  a  good  many  of  us 
take  it  like  that  at  first." 

But  Ernestine  was  not  to  be  comforted.  It  meant 
too  much  to  her.  The  tears  were  running  down  her 
face,  but  suddenly  she  brushed  them  angrily  aside, 
and  sat  up.  "  I'm  going  back,"  she  said  resolutely. 

"Oh,  but  you   mustn't,"  protested   the  nurse, — 


246     THE    GLORY    OF    THE*    CONQUERED 

"  not  to-day.  It  really  wouldn't  do.  And  anyway 
they  must  be  almost  through.  Dr.  Parkman  works 
so  rapidly." 

It  was  a  very  disheartened  Ernestine  who  sat  there 
then  alone.  "  What  will  Dr.  Parkman  think  of  me?  " 
she  bewailed  to  herself.  "  He  will  never  want  to  have 
anything  more  to  do  with  me.  He  will  be  so  dis 
gusted  that  he  will  let  me  alone  now.  And  how  am  I 
to  get  along  without  him?  Oh,  why  am  I  such  a 
fool?" 

The  whole  day  had  been  hard,  she  was  tired  out 
when  she  came,  and  this  was  too  much.  So  she  just 
lay  back  on  the  couch  and  cried.  It  was  so  that  Dr. 
Parkman  found  her  when  he  came  briskly  in  at  the 
close  of  the  operation. 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter  ? "  he  demanded. 
"  Heard  some  bad  news  ?  " 

"  Bad — news !  "  she  choked  out ;  "  no,  I  haven't 
heard  any  bad  news — except  that  I'm  an  utterly 
worthless,  weak-minded  fool !  " 

"  And  where  did  you  hear  that  ?  "  he  pursued. 

"  Oh,  doctor — I'm  so  ashamed !  But  if  you'll  only 
give  me  another  chance!  If  you'll  just  not  give  me 
up  for  a  little  while  yet !  " 

"  Give  you  up !  Now  what  kind  of  reviving  fluid 
did  Miss  Lewis  produce  for  you  ?  What  in  the  world 
are  you  talking  about?  Do  you  think  you're  any 
grand  exception  in  not  seeing  your  first  operation 
through?  Hum!  Ask  some  of  these  nurses  around 
here.  Some  of  the  doctors  too,  only  they  won't  tell 
the  truth.  My  first  day  in  the  dissecting  room  was  a 


LEARNING  TO  BE  KARL'S  EYES 

day  of  about  thirty  minutes.  So  you  see  you  have 
plenty  of  company  in  your  weak-mindedness." 

She  brightened  then  to  the  extent  of  looking  willing 
to  be  comforted.  "  But  it's  humiliating,  doctor,  to 
think  you're  going  to  accomplish  some  big  thing  and 
then  be  absolutely  overcome  by  a  little  incidental 
thing  that  doesn't  happen  to  appeal  to  your  senses. 
It's  awful  to  have  your  senses  get  ahead  of  your  soul 
like  that,"  she  laughed. 

"Hum!" — Dr.  Parkman  had  a  "hum"  all  his 
own.  "  There's  nothing  unique  in  that  experience, 
either.  The  spirit  is  willing,  but  the  stomach  is 
weak — to  put  it  in  exact  terms.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
that's  what  life  is  made  up  of — having  great  purposes 
overthrown  by  minor  inconveniences.  Many  a  man 
can  get  hold  of  a  great  idea,  but  very  few  of  them 
can  stick  by  it  through  the  things  that  make  them 
uncomfortable.  That's  the  reason  most  dreamers 
fail — they're  not  willing  to  come  down  out  of  the 
clouds  and  get  to  work  at  things  that  turn  their 
stomachs ! " 

"Well,  I'm  not  like  that!"  she  flashed  back  at 
him. 

"You?  I  know  you're  not.  Some  ancestor  of 
yours  gave  you  a  big  bump  of  stubbornness — for 
which  you  should  look  back  to  him  with  gratitude. 
Stubborn  people  aren't  easily  put  out  of  the  race. 
Now  I'll  tell  you  why  I  wanted  you  to  come  down 
here,"  he  went  on,  more  seriously.  "  I  want  you  to  see 
the  thing  just  as  it  is.  I  want  you  to  get  the  con 
ception  of  it  as  a  whole.  I  don't  want  you  to  become 


248    THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

short-sighted.  Some  people  look  so  much  through 
the  microscope  that  they  forget  how  to  look  any 
other  way.  That's  the  difference  between  Karl  and 
some  of  those  fellows  you're  associated  with  now. 
That  Willard  and  Lane  and  young  Beason  are  the 
scientific  kind,  too  abominably  scientific  to  forge 
ahead.  Don't  lose  sight  of  what  you  are  doing.  All 
these  things  you  are  doing  now  are  simply  a  means 
to  an  end.  You  are  to  be  one  of  the  instruments  em 
ployed — as  you  put  it  yourself  one  day — but  make 
yourself  such  a  highly-organised,  responsive  instru 
ment  that  you're  fairly  alive  with  the  idea  yourself. 
See?  That's  where  your  real  value  will  come  in.  You 
know," — it  was  Dr.  Parkman  now  who  breathed  the 
enthusiasm  which  draws  one  to  a  light  out  beyond 
obstacle  and  difficulty — "  I'm  beginning  to  see  the 
thing  more  and  more  as  actual  fact.  I  caught  the 
idea  from  the  first,  and  then  it  seemed  it  simply  had 
to  be  done  because  it  was  such  a  great  thing  to  do, 
but  I'm  getting  it  more  and  more  now  just  as  a  prac 
tical,  matter-of-fact  thing.  And  it  isn't  so  far  away, 
— not  so  very.  You  see,  after  all,  Mrs.  Hubers,  you 
don't  have  to  do  it  all.  It  would  be  stupid  to  set  a 
race  horse  at  a  job  that  could  be  just  as  well  accom 
plished  by  a  plug.  Any  well-trained  man  can  do  cer 
tain  things  for  Karl — but  it's  the  touch  of  the  artist 
— the  things  that  make  it  real — it's  making  the  blind 
man  see — doing  the  impossible ! — that's  your  work. 
Why,  I  can  fairly  see  the  whole  thing,"  he  went  on — 
"  Karl  and  you  and  some  good  assistant.  He'll  get 
both  points  of  view  then — he  can't  miss  anything. 


LEARNING   TO   BE    KARL'S   EYES     249 

The  other  fellow  can  give  him  certain  technicalities 
you  might  miss — and  then  you'll  turn  in  and  bring 
it  to  his  vision.  A  clear  statement  of  facts  could 
never  make  a  blind  man  see.  And  then  it  will  be  your 
business  to  keep  the  spirit  right — that's  the  real 
point,  after  all.  Why,  I  can  see  it  just  as  clearly  as 
I  could  see  that  work  to  be  done  in  there !  " — point 
ing  to  the  operating  room. 

It  was  another  Ernestine  now.  She  rose  to  it  as 
the  warrior  to  the  trumpet  call.  He  knew  that  the 
right  word  had  been  said. 

"  Now  I  don't  think  it  will  hurt  you  to  see  some 
of  these  operations,"  he  went  on,  in  more  business 
like  way.  "  Not  only  to  help  with  observations  for 
Karl,  but — well,  just  to  see  it  for  yourself.  Nothing 
will  make  this  quite  so  real  and  vital  to  you  as  to 
see  it  actually  breaking  down  human  organisms,  de 
stroying  life.  I  want  you  to  get  an  eye  for  the  thing 
as  a  whole : — see  it  as  it  is  now,  see  the  need  of  making 
it  some  other  way.  You  must  have  more  than  a  de 
sire  to  help  Karl — you  must  have  an  enthusiasm  for 
the  thing  itself.  You'll  get  so  then  that  when  you 
see  an  operation  like  this  you  won't  see  just  some 
broken-down,  diseased  tissue  that  makes  you  feel 
weak-kneed,  but  you'll  see  something  to  get  in  and 
fight.  Oh,  it's  a  battle — so  get  your  fighting  blood 
up !  Remember  that  you'll  have  to  have  enough  for 
two.  You  know,  what  you  must  do  for  Karl  is  not 
only  give  him  back  the  weapons  with  which  to  fight, 
but  you  must  rouse  his  soldier's  blood, — see  what  I 
mean  ?  " 


250    THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

It  was  a  joy  to  watch  the  response.  He  could  see 
weariness  and  discouragement  slipping  from  her  as 
she  spoke. 

He  was  thinking  to  himself  that  she  was  superb, 
but  aloud  he  said,  "  This  is  a  good  specimen  in  here. 
If  you'll  just  come  into  the  next  room  I'd  like  to  go 
over  it  with  you.  I  think  I  can  make  a  few  things 
clear." 

She  was  radiant  then,  happy  that  he  had  so  soon 
forgotten  her  first  failure,  appreciating  his  assump 
tion  that  she  was  ready  even  now  to  go  on  with  the 
fight. 

"  She  will  carry  it  through,"  thought  Dr.  Park- 
man,  as  he  finally  left  the  hospital.  "  And,  by  the 
good  Lord,  I  believe  that  Karl  Hubers  is  going  to 
get  back  in  the  game  and  win !  Nasty  blow  to  the 
woman  haters,"  he  mused,  as  he  looked  in  upon  an 
office  full  of  waiting  patients, — "  a  very  nasty  blow." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 
WITH    BROKEN    SWORD 

HE  wished  that  Ernestine  would  come  home. 
He  had  let  Ross  go  at  four,  and  it  was 
lonesome   there   alone.      In    spite   of   the 
fact  that  she  was  away  so  much,  Ernes 
tine  was   almost  always  there  when  he  wranted  her 
most.     That  was  just  one  of  the  wonderful  things 
about   Ernestine.      Something   must   have   detained 
her  to-day. 

He  reached  over  on  the  table  for  his  copy  of 
"Faust."  It  had  become  his  habit  to  pick  it  up 
when  he  did  not  care  to  sit  face  to  face  with  his 
own  thoughts.  It  seemed  to  hold  some  word  for 
everything  in  life.  Its  universality  made  it  a  good 
friend. 

It  was  becoming  easier  to  read  with  his  fingers, 
but  he  had  never  come  into  the  old  joy  in  reading 
that  there  had  been  in  the  days  when  he  could  see 
it.  And  it  seemed  to  him  that  there  was  an  unneces 
sary  clumsiness  about  the  whole  thing.  He  had 
worked  out  a  little  idea  of  his  own  for  which  he  was 
going  to  have  a  model  made.  He  believed  it  might 
help  some — at  any  rate  he  had  enjoyed  working  it 
out.  "If  a -fellow  feels  like  inventing,  he  simply 
must  invent  something,  whether  it  amounts  to  any 
thing  or  not,"  he  had  explained  to  Ernestine. 

251 


THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

He  did  not  read  consecutively  to-night,  but  just 
a  line  here  and  there,  getting  a  little  of  wit,  a  little 
of  philosophy,  a  dash  or  two  of  sarcasm,  'an  occa 
sional  gleam  of  sentiment ;  he  liked  to  take  it  that 
way  at  times  like  this;  it  seemed  if  not  one  thing, 
then  surely  another,  must  keep  him  from  the  things 
into  which  it  would  be  so  easy  to  slip  to-night. 

"  Restless  activity  proves  the  man ! " — several 
times  his  fingers  went  over  that,  and  his  responsive 
face  told  that  to  his  mind  it  brought  a  poignant 
meaning,  and  to  his  heart  an  understanding  and  a 
sadness.  He  closed  the  book,*  and  sat  there  thinking. 
He  seemed  very  self-contained — quiet,  poised,  but 
the  understanding  eye  would  have  known  that  he 
was  thinking  deep  thoughts,  facing  hard  truths. 

Once  at  a  horse  race  he  had  seen  a  horse  which 
had  just  been  lamed  tied  near  the  track.  It  heard 
the  ringing  of  the  gong,  heard  the  music  of  the 
other  horses'  feet,  heard,  saw,  smelled,  sensed  in 
every  way  the  race  that  was  going  on.  A  weakness 
in  one  foot  could  not  kill  the  spirit  of  a  race  horse. 
Tied  there  beside  the  track,  watching  others  strug 
gling  for  the  race !  He  had  wondered  about  that 
horse,  then,  had  been  sure  from  the  quivering  of  its 
nostrils,  the  pawing  of  its  foot,  the  passionate 
trembling  of  its  whole  superb  body  that  it  suffered. 
Thinking  back  to  it  to-night  he  had  good  reason 
to  know  that  he  had  been  right  that  day. 

It  was  queer  about  life.  In  some  ways  so  incom- 
prehensively  great  and  superb,  and  yet  so  easy  to 
be  overthrown.  Great  purposes  seemed  very  great, 


WITH  BROKEN   SWORD  253 

but  was  a  thing  really  great  when  it  was  so  easily 
undermined?  Was  there  not  a  dizzying  instability 
about  it  all? 

He  smiled  a  little  as  he  lighted  his  pipe.  He 
seemed  to  be  doing  a  great  deal  of  speculating  these 
days.  What  if  he  too  were  to  be  graduated  into 
the  bigger  field  of  philosophy?  But  he  shook  his 
head,  still  smiling  a  little.  If  he  ever  entered  the 
bigger  field  of  philosophy  he  was  sure  he  would  not 
be  carried  there  in  other  men's  elevators,  that  he 
would  not  arrive  in  the  jaunty,  well-groomed  state 
of  Ross  and  his  sort.  No,  if  he  ever  found  the 
bigger  field  of  philosophy,  it  would  be  after  he  had 
scaled  slippery  crags  and  forded  great  rivers,  after 
he  had  pushed  his  way  through  brambles  and  across 
sharp  stones,  after  he  had  many  times  lost  his  foot 
ing,  and  had  many  times  stopped  to  rest,  believing 
he  could  go  no  farther.  It  was  after  some  such 
quest  that  he  might  perhaps  find  his  way  up  into  the 
bigger  field  of  philosophy.  But  he  would  not  find 
Ross  there.  Ross  and  his  fellows  were  down  in 
a  nice  little  garden  that  had  been  fixed  up  for  them. 
That  was  it:  the  garden  of  philosophy, —  a  garden 
made  by  man,  in  which  there  were  little  artificial 
lakes  and  shrubbery  set  out  in  attractive  designs. 
A  very  nice  garden  indeed,  where  the  sun  shone  and 
where  it  was  true  pretty  flowers  would  grow — but 
ah,  one  did  not  feel  the  wind  upon  one's  face  down 
in  that  sheltered  garden  as  he  believed  one  would 
feel  it  up  there  on  the  lonely  heights  to  which  one 
had  climbed  alone!  And  the  garden  of  philosophy 


THE    GLORY    OF.    THE    CONQUERED 

— he  was  smiling  at  his  fancy,  but  it  interested  him 
— was  electric  lighted,  while  up  there  on  the  big 
wide  sweep,  one  came  very  close  to  the  stars. 

What  was  philosophy,  anyway?  With  Ross  it 
seemed  a  matter  of  speaking  the  vocabulary  of 
philosophers.  It  was  so,  he  knew,  with  many  men. 
And  yet,  as  to  the  thing  itself,  it  was  not  a  mere 
learning  a  system  of  thought,  acquiring  the  easy 
use  of  a  peculiar  kind  of  words.  It  was  not  fair, 
after  all,  to  judge  a  thing  by  the  people  least  fitted 
to  understand  it.  Perhaps  philosophy  was  conquer 
ing  life.  Perhaps  it  was  learning  to  take  life  in  good 
part,  making  up  one's  mind  to  write  good  text-books 
if  it  seemed  certain  the  writing  of  text-books  were 
to  be  one's  part.  Perhaps  it  was  just  holding  one's 
place.  The  mere  thing  of  holding  one's  place  seemed 
a  bigger  thing  now  than  it  once  had.  He  wondered. 
He  was  wondering  about  many  things  these  days, 
and  perhaps  he  had  already  scaled  a  crag  or  two, 
for  he  was  able  sometimes,  in  spite  of  the  deep  sad 
ness  of  his  face,  to  smile  a  little  in  his  wonderings. 

Ernestine  was  her  sweetest  self  when  she  came  in 
a  little  later.  "  I'm  glad  you  were  late,"  he  said, 
after  her  affectionate  protestations  regarding  her 
shortcomings,  "  you  haven't  been  this  nice  for  a  long 
time." 

She  threw  aside  her  hat  and  coat  and  took  her  fa 
vourite  place  on  the  low  seat  beside  him.  "  Don't 
you  remember,  liebchen,  how  it  was  over  there  in 
Europe — after  you'd  treated  me  badly,  you  were 


WITH   BROKEN   SWORD  255 

always  so  nice,  that  I  used  to  be  quite  tempted  to 
make  you  be  horrid?  " 

"  I  never  was  horrid  to  you,"  she  protested. 

"  You're  never  horrid  any  more,"  he  said,  and, 
strangely  enough,  he  said  it  sadly. 

"Well,  do  you  want  me  to  be?" 

"  Yes !  I  wish  you'd  turn  in  once  in  a  while  and 
call  me  an  old  brute,  and  say  you  wished  you'd  never 
seen  me,  and  didn't  know  how  in  heaven's  name  you 
were  going  to  go  on  living  with  me ! ' 

"  Karl,"  she  gasped—"  are  you  going  crazy?  " 

"  No — at  least  I  hope  not.  But  you're  just  nice 
to  me  all  the  time,  because — because  I'm  blind!  I 
don't  like  it!  I  wish  you'd  swear  at  me  some 
times  !  " 

"  Well,  in  the  first  place,"  laughing,  but  serious 
too, — it  had  come  so  heatedly,  "  it  isn't  my  way  to 
swear  at  any  one.  I  never  did  swear  at  you.  Why 
should  I  begin  now?  " 

"  Oh,  swear  was  figurative  language,"  he  laughed. 

"  And  of  all  things  for  a  man  to  harrow  up  his 
soul  about!  Not  liking  it  because  his  wife  is  never 
horrid  to  him !  " 

"  It's  not  as  crazy  as  it  sounds.  Are  you  and  I  a 
couple  of  plaster  saints?  Well,  hardly!  Then  why 
don't  we  have  any  quarrels?  It's  just  because  you're 
sorry  for  me!  I'll  not  have  you  being  sorry  for 
me!"  he  concluded,  almost  angrily. 

But  when  she  kissed  him,  he  could  not  resist  a  smile. 
"You  don't  know  much,  do  you,  Karl?  Don't  you 


256    THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

know  that  we  don't  quarrel  about  little  things,  be 
cause  we've  had  so  many  big  things  on  hand?  We 
don't  swear  at  each  other,  because " 

"  Because  we  have  so  many  other  things  to  swear 
at,"  he  finished  for  her. 

"  That's  it.  All  our  fighting  emotion  is  being  used 
up." 

"  Oh,  you're  such  a  genius  for  making  things  seem 
right !  Now  looking  at  it  that  way,  I'm  quite  recon 
ciled  to  your  being  nice  to  me.  Still  I  want  you  to 
promise  that  if  you  ever  feel  like  swearing,  you 
will." 

"  I  promise,"  she  responded  solemnly. 

"  Don't  do  things — or  not  do  things — because 
you're  sorry  for  me,  Ernestine." 

"  We  are  '  sorry  for '  people  who  are  unequal  to 
things.  I'm  sorry  with  you,  not  for  you,  Karl." 

"  Ernestine," — with  an  affectionate  little  laugh 
— "is  there  anythmg  you  don't  understand?" 

"  You  might  play  a  little  for  me,"  he  said  after 
a  silence.  "  Play  that  thing  that  ends  in  a  question." 

"Of  Liszt's?" 

"  Yes ;  the  one  that  leaves  you  wondering." 

At  first  she  had  resented  bitterly  her  not  being 
able  to  play  more  satisfyingly.  If  only  music  were 
her  work !  It  seemed  an  almost  malicious  touch  that 
fate,  in  taking  away  Karl's  own  work,  had  also 
shut  him  out  from  hers.  Resentment  at  that  had 
made  it  hard  for  her  to  play  for  him  at  all,  at  first. 
But  she  had  overcome  that,  and  had  been  able  to  make 
music  mean  much  to  them  both.  They  loved  especially 


WITH    BROKEN   SWORD  257 

the  music  which  seemed  to  translate  for  them  things 
within  their  own  hearts. 

But  to-night  when  Ernestine  had  left  him  pon 
dering  a  minute  the  question  he  said  Liszt  always 
left  with  him,  she  turned,  eagerly  it  seemed,  to 
lighter  things.  She  played  a  little  Nevin,  played  it 
with  a  lightness,  gladsomeness,  he  had  never  felt  in 
her  touch  before.  He  said  Nevin  helped  him  to  see 
things,  that  he  could  see  leaves  moving  on  their 
branches,  could  see  the  shadows  falling  on  the  hill 
sides  where  the  cattle  were  grazing,  as  he  listened  to 
Nevin.  But  it  did  not  bring  the  pictures  to-night. 
It  opened  up  new  fears. 

"  Ernestine,"  he  said  abruptly,  "  come  here." 

"Are  you  ever  frightened,  Ernestine?"  he  asked 
of  her,  still  in  that  abrupt,  strange  manner. 

"  Frightened— about  what?  " 

"  Frightened  about  having  to  live  all  your  life 
with  me ! " 

For  a  moment  she  did  not  answer.  Then,  her  voice 
quiet  with  the  quiet  that  would  hold  back  anger: 
"  Karl,  do  you  think  you  are  treating  me  very  kindly 
to-night?  Saying  these  strange  things  I  cannot 
understand  ?  " 

"But,  Ernestine — look  here!  You're  young — 
beautiful — love  life.  Doesn't  it  ever  occur  to  you 
that  you're  not  getting  enough  fun  out  of  things?  " 

"  Karl," — and  there  was  a  quivering  in  the  voice 
now — "  do  you  think  I  have  been  thinking  lately 
about  '  getting  fun  out  of  things  '?  " 

"  No,  but  that's  just  it!    You  ought  to  be  think- 


258     THE    GLORY    OF.    THE    CONQUERED 

ing  about  it !  Ernestine — think  of  it !  How  are  you 
going  to  go  on  forever  loving  a  blind  man  ?  " 

For  answer,  she  knelt  down  beside  him,  her  arms 
about  his  neck,  her  cheek  against  his. 

"  Yes — I  know — in  that  way.  But  in  the  old  way 
of  the  first  days  ?  I  was  so  different  then.  How  can< 
you  love  me  now,  the  way  you  did  then  ?  What  do  I 
do  now  but  sit  in  a  chair  and  try  to  be  patient? 
Look  at  a  man  like  Parkman!  That's  life.  Ernes 
tine  " — drawing  her  close,  a  sob  in  his  voice — 
"liebchen, — can  you?  " 

She  longed  to  tell  him  then ;  it  would  mean  so  much 
to  tell  him  now, — Karl  was  so  troubled  to-night.  But 
the  time  was  not  ripe  yet ;  she  must  not  spoil  it  all. 
And  so  instead  she  talked  to  him  of  how  real  power 
comprehended  more  than  activity,  how  depth  of  un 
derstanding,  great  things  of  the  soul,  were  more  mas 
terful  than  those  outer  forces  men  called  "  life." 
Ernestine  seldom  failed  in  being  convincing  when 
she  felt  things  as  she  now  felt  this. 

"You  always  have  the  right  word,"  he  said  at 
last.  "  You  can  always  get  ahead  of  the  little  blue 
devils." 

"  Oh,  Karl,"  she  murmured,  very  low,  her  heart 
too  full  to  resist  this — "  some  day  I  can  show  you 
better  what  I  expect  of  life." 

"  Of  course,"  he  mused,  after  a  silence,  "  you  have 
your  work." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Ernestine,  and  something  in  her 
voice  puzzled  him,  "  I  have  my  work." 

He  would  have  been  startled  could  he  have  seen 


WITH   BROKEN   SWORD  259 

her  face  just  then.  For  Ernestine  was  so  happy  to 
night.  She  had  come  away  from  the  hospital  with  a 
song  in  her  heart;  a  song  of  resolution  and  of  tri 
umph.  She  had  never  foreseen  the  future  so  clearly ; 
the  time  had  never  seemed  so  close  at  hand;  it  had 
never  been  this  real  before.  Just  in  front  of  her  as 
she  sat  there  beside  Karl  was  the  Gloria  Victis,  that 
statue  for  which  he  had  cared  so  little  at  first,  but 
which  in  these  later  days  she  often  found  him  dwell 
ing  upon  with  his  hands  in  lingering  touch  of  ap 
preciation.  To  her  the  statue  had  come  to  hold 
many  meanings;  she  looked  at  it  now  with  shining 
eyes.  Karl  had  held  so  tight  to  the  broken  sword — 
how  splendid  then  that  he  should  win  the  fight  de 
spite  it  all. 

And  she  felt  she  had  never  risen  so  completely  to 
the  idea  of  Karl's  greatness  as  she  did  to-day.  What 
was  there  in  the  afternoon  had  meant  so  much  to  her? 
Was  it  actually  seeing  things  as  they  were,  or  was 
it  the  things  Dr.  Parkman  had  said  to  point  the  way 
anew?  There  was  to-night  a  new  tide  of  apprecia 
tion,  a  larger  understanding,  more  passionate  re 
sponse  to  this  thought  of  Karl  as  greatest  of  them 
all.  Looking  at  his  face  as  he  sat  there  in  deep 
thought,  she  saw  the  marks  of  his  greatness  upon  it 
just  as  plainly  as  she  saw  those  other  marks  of  his 
suffering. — This  man  stop  work?  Such  as  he  out 
of  the  race? 

She  remembered  the  letters  they  had  received  when 
the  news  of  his  blindness  had  gone  out.  She  had  wept 
over  them  many  times,  but  it  seemed  she  had  never 


260  THE  GLORY  OF.  THE  CONQUERED 

grasped  their  significance  before.  They  were  from 
men  of  science,  from  doctors,  from  students,  and 
from  many  plain  people  unknown  outside  their  small 
communities,  who  wrote  to  say  they  were  sorry. 
They  had  seen  about  him  once  or  twice  in  the  maga 
zines,  they  said,  or  perhaps  their  own  doctor  at  home 
had  told  them  of  him,  and  they  were  so  interested 
because  their  wife  or  husband  or  mother  had  died  of 
cancer,  and  they  knew  what  an  awful  thing  it  was. 
It  should  have  been  some  one  whom  the  world  needed 
less  than  it  needed  him,  these  plain  people  said. 

Her  eyes  filled  with  a  rush  of  tears.  This  was  her 
Karl — he  with  whom  all  the  world  grieved !  She  re 
called  the  editorials  in  the  scientific  papers,  telling 
of  the  things  he  had  done,  the  things  it  had  been 
believed  by  them  all  he  would  achieve.  This  was  her 
Karl! — this  man  whose  withdrawal  from  active  par 
ticipation  had  been  told  of  by  great  scientists  every 
where  as  a  world-wide  calamity.  How  quiet  and  un 
assuming  and  simple  he  had  been  about  it  all — he 
whose  stepping-out  had  been  felt  around  the  world! 

And,  now,  some  day  before  long  she  would  come 
to  him  with :  "  Karl,  I  have  found  a  new  way  of 
fighting  with  broken  swords;  take  a  good  grip  on 
the  sword,  a  good  strong  grip,  and  let  us  turn  back 
to  the  fight !  " 

She  turned  to  him  with  that  quick  passionateness 
he  loved  in  her  so  well.  "  I  love  you,"  she  said,  and 
though  she  had  said  it  many  times  in  other  days,  it 
had  never  sounded  just  like  that  before. 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

UNPAINTED    MASTERPIECES 

GEORGIA  was  to  be  married.  It  was  the 
week  before  Christmas,  and  on  the  last 
day  of  the  year  she  would  become  Mrs. 
Joseph  Tank.  She  had  told  Joe  that  if 
they  were  to  be  married  at  all  they  might  as  well 
get  it  over  with  this  year,  and  still  there  was  no  need 
of  being  married  any  earlier  in  the  year  than  was 
necessary.  She  assured  him  that  she  married  him 
simply  because  she  was  tired  of  having  paper  bags 
waved  before  her  eyes  everywhere  she  went,  and  she 
thought  if  she  were  once  officially  associated  with  him 
people  would  not  flaunt  his  idiosyncrasies  at  her  that 
way.  And  then  Ernestine  approved  of  getting  mar 
ried,  and  Ernestine's  ideas  were  usually  good.  To 
all  of  which  Joe  responded  that  she  certainly  had  a 
splendid  head  to  figure  it  out  that  way.  Joe  said 
that  to  his  mind  reasons  for  doing  things  weren't 
very  important  anyhow;  it  was  doing  them  that 
counted. 

Yesterday  had  been  her  last  day  on  the  paper. 
She  had  felt  queer  about  that  thing  of  taking  her 
last  assignment,  though  it  was  hard  to  reach  just 
the  proper  state,  for  the  last  story  related  to  pork- 
packers,  and  pork-packing  is  not  a  setting  favourable 
to  sentimental  regrets.  It  was  just  like  the  news- 

261 


262  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

paper  business  not  even  to  allow  one  a  little  senti 
mental  harrowing  over  one's  exodus  from  it.  But  the 
time  for  gentle  melancholy  came  later  on,  when  she 
was  sorting  her  things  at  her  desk  just  before  leaving, 
and  was  wondering  what  girl  would  have  that  old 
desk — if  they  cared  to  risk  another  girl,  and  whether 
the  other  poor  girl  would  slave  through  the  years 
she  should  have  been  frivolous,  only  to  have  some 
man  step  in  at  the  end  and  induce  her  to  surrender 
the  things  she  had  gained  through  sacrifice  and  toil. 
As  she  wrote  a  final  letter  on  her  typewriter — she 
did  hate  letting  the  old  machine  go — Georgia  did 
considerable  philosophising  about  the  irony  of 
working  for  things  only  to  the  end  of  giving  them 
up.  She  had  waded  through  snowdrifts  and  been 
drenched  in  pouring  rains,  she  had  been  frozen  with 
the  cold  and  prostrated  with  the  heat,  she  had  been 
blown  about  by  Chicago  wind  until  it  was  strange 
there  was  any  of  her  left  in  one  piece,  she  had  had 
front  doors — yes,  and  back  doors  too,  slammed  in 
her  face,  she  had  been  the  butt  of  the  alleged  wit  of 
menials  and  hirelings,  she  had  been  patronised  by 
vapid  women  as  the  poor  girl  who  must  make  her 
living  some  way,  she  had  been  roasted  by — but  never 
mind — she  had  had  a  beat  or  two !  And  now  she  was 
to  wind  it  all  up  by  marrying  Joseph  Tank,  who  had 
made  a  great  deal  of  money  out  of  the  manufacture 
of  paper  bags.  This  from  her — who  had  always  be 
lieved  she  would  end  her  days  in  New  York,  or  per 
haps  write  a  realistic  novel  exposing  some  mighty 
evil! 


UNPAINTED   MASTERPIECES        263 

"Ah,  well— it's  all  in  the  day's  work!"— she  had 
been  saying  that  to  herself  as  she  covered  her  type 
writer,  and  then,  just  as  she  was  fearing  that  her 
exit  would  be  a  maudlin  one,  Joe  called  up  to  say 
that  he  did  not  think  it  would  be  too  cold  for  the  ma 
chine,  and  why  not  spin  out  somewhere  on  the  North 
Shore  for  a  good  dinner?  Now  that  had  been  nice  of 
Joe,  for  it  tided  her  over  the  good-byes. 

To-day  she  was  engaged  in  the  pre-nuptial  rite 
of  destroying  her  past,  indulging  in  the  letter 
destroying  ceremonial  which  seems  always  to  attend 
the  eve  of  matrimony.  It  was  so  that  Ernestine 
found  her  when  she  stopped  on  her  way  from  the 
university  that  afternoon. 

Mrs.  McCormick  was  sewing  yards  upon  yards 
of  lace  on  something  when  Ernestine  came  in.  "  She's 
right  in  there,"  she  said,  referring  to  Georgia  in  a 
sepulchral  tone  which  might  fittingly  have  been 
employed  for :  "  The  remains  have  been  laid  out  in 
the  front  room." 

Georgia  herself,  though  not  sepulchral,  was  sub 
dued.  "  My,  but  I'm  glad  you've  come,"  she  said, 
brushing  aside  several  hundred  letters  that  Ernes 
tine  might  have  a  place  to  sit  down.  "  I'm  having 
the  most  terrible  twinge  of  conscience." 

"Why,  what  about?" 

Georgia  pointed  to  the  clock.  "  Think  of  my  not 
being  at  the  office!  I  ought  to  be  hanging  around 
now  for  an  afternoon  assignment." 

"You'll  get  over  that,"  Ernestine  assured  her, 
cheerfully. 


264    THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  so.  One  gets  over  everything — 
even  being  alive.  Meanwhile,  behold  me," — with  a 
great  sweep  of  her  arms — "  surrounded  by  my  blight 
ing  past." 

"That  one  looks  like  Freddie  Allen's  writing," 
said  Ernestine,  giving  an  envelope  at  her  foot  a 
little  shove. 

"  It  is,"  said  Georgia,  with  feeling ;  "  yes — it  is. 
Poor  Freddie — he  was  such  a  nice  boy." 

"  I   suppose  he's  nice   still,"   observed  Ernestine. 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  so.  I'm  sure  I  don't  know.  He's 
'way  back  there  in  the  dim  past." 

"  Well,  do  you  want  him  up  here  in  the  sunny 
present?"  Ernestine  inquired,  much  entertained. 

"  No,  oh  no — if  I  had  wanted  him  I  would  have 
had  him,"  with  which  reversion  to  the  normal  Georgia 
they  laughed  understandingly. 

She  shook  herself  free  of  the  dust  of  her  past 
then,  piled  up  the  pillows  and  settled  herself  on  the 
bed.  "  But  we  had  some  good  times  back  there  in 
the  dim  past,  didn't  we,  Ernestine?  " 

"  Some  of  them  were  good  times,"  replied  Ernes 
tine,  a  little  soberly. 

"  Of  course  our  college  life  would  have  been 
happier  if  we  had  been  able  to  pull  down  that  sopho 
more  flag.  I've  always  thought  Jack  Stewart  might 
have  done  a  little  better  with  that.  But  as  long  as 
we  kept  Jim  Jones  away  from  every  party  in  his 
junior  year,  perhaps  we  should  be  satisfied."  Georgia 
sighed  heavily.  "And  it  is  a  joy  to  think  back  to 


UNPAINTED   MASTERPIECES        265 

your  telling  the  dean  he  didn't  have  the  courage  of 
his  convictions  when  he  let  them  fire  Stone  for  heresy. 
Oh  there  are  a  good  many  things  to  be  thankful  for. 
You  always  had  lots  of  nerve  when  it  came  to  a 
show-down.  You  looked  so  lady-like,  and  yet  you 
really  weren't  at  all." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  whether  I  like  that  or  not." 

"  I  mean  not  so  lady-like  that  it  interfered  with 
anything  you  wanted  to  do.  You'd  speak  up  in  the 
pleasantest,  most  agreeable  voice  and  say  the  most 
dreadful  things.  I'll  never  forget  the  day  you  told 
"  Prof  "  Moore  in  class  that  you  had  always  had  a 
peculiar  aversion  to  the  Pilgrim  Fathers." 

"  I  always  did,"  Ernestine  said  fervently. 

"  Then  one  day  when  we  had  spent  an  hour  trying 
to  tell  what  Shakespeare  meant  by  some  line  you  said 
you  thought  quite  likely  he  put  it  in  just  because 
there  had  to  be  another  line.  And  "  Prof  "  Jennings 
conditioned  you  on  the  whole  year's  work — remem 
ber?" 

"  I  have  reason  to,"  laughed  Ernestine. 

"  The  funny  part  of  it  was  that  you  never  seemed 
to  think  you  were  saying  anything  startling.  Like 
the  day  you  contended  in  ethics  that  you  thought  fre 
quently  it  was  better  to  be  pleasant  than  truthful. 
Kitty  Janeway  was  so  shocked  at  that.  I  wonder  if 
Kitty  Janeway  is  any  happier  with  her  second  hus 
band  than  she  was  with  her  first?  " 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  said  Ernestine  in  a  rather 
far-away  voice. 


266    THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

"I'll  send  all  the  girls  cards,"  said  Georgia,  and 
again  she  sighed  heavily.  "  The  -cards  are  going  to 
look  very  nice,"  she  added,  a  little  more  hopefully. 

"Ernestine?" — after  a  little  pause. 

"  Yes  ?" 

"  You  and  I  are  hanging  right  over  the  ragged 
edge  of  thirty." 

"  Horrors ! — Georgia ;  is  this  your  idea  of  furnish 
ing  pleasant  entertainment  for  a  guest  ?  " 

"  But  I  was  just  thinking  how  many  things  have 
happened  to  us  since  we  were  twenty-two." 

"  I  was  thinking  of  that  a  minute  ago  myself." 

66  To  you,  especially.  Now,  I  never  supposed  when 
we  were  in  college  that  you  were  going  to  marry  Karl 
Hubers." 

"  No,"  laughed  Ernestine,  "  neither  did  I." 

"  I  mean  I  never  associated  you  two  with  one  an 
other.  And  now  I  can't  think  of  you  separately. 
And  then  your  father  and  mother,  and  then  Karl 
losing — heavens,  but  I'm  cheerful!  Now,  isn't  it 
just  like  me,"  she  demanded,  angrily,  "to  act  like  a 
fool  just  because  I'm  going  to  be  married?  If  I  keep 
on  I'll  find  myself  weeping  because  Socrates  is  dead. 
And  I  never  do  weep,  either.  I  tell  you  that  Joe 
Tank's  a  terrible  man,"  she  laughed,  brushing  away 
some  tears. 

"  I  don't  think  you're  going  to  have  much  to 
weep  about,  Georgia.  I  know  you're  going  to  be 
happy." 

"  Well,  if  I'm  not  it  won't  be  Joe's  fault.  Unless 
it  is  has  fault  on  account  of  its  not  being  his  fault. 


UNPAINTED    MASTERPIECES        267 

What  I  mean  is  that  good-natured  people  are  some 
times  aggravating." 

"  Oh  he'll  not  always  be  good-natured,"  she  reas 
sured  her. 

Ernestine  said  then  that  she  must  go,  and  was 
standing  at  the  door  when  Georgia  burst  forth: 
"  Oh  Ernestine — I'm  so  glad  I  remembered.  You 
really  must  go  down  to  the  Art  Institute  and  see 
those  pictures  by  that  Norwegian  artist — I  shouldn't 
dream  of  pronouncing  his  name.  They  go  away  this 
week,  and  it  would  be  awful  for  you  to  miss  them." 

A  wistfulness,  fairly  pain,  revealed  itself  for  an 
instant  in  Ernestine's  face.  And  then,  as  if  coming 
into  consciousness  of  the  look:  "I  know,"  she  said 
briefly.  "  I  read  about  them.  I've  been — thinking 
about  it.  I  did  see  some  of  them  in  Europe,  but 
of  course  I  should  love  to  see  them  again." 

"I  wish  you  would,  my  dear;  perhaps" — a  little 
fearfully — "  they'd  make  you  feel  like  getting  to 
work  yourself.  Ernestine," — gathering  courage — 
"  it's  awful  for  you  to  let  your  work  go  this  way. 
Every  one  says  so.  I  was  talking  to  Ryan  the  other 
day — you  know  who  he  is?  He  asked  all  about  you, 
and  if  you  were  doing  anything  now,  and  when  I 
told  him  I  was  afraid  not  he  fairly  flew  into  a  rage, 
said  that  was  just  the  way —  the  people  who  might 
be  great  didn't  seem  to  have  sense  enough  to  care  to 
be." 

That  brought  the  quick  colour.  "  Perhaps  Mr. 
Ryan  does  not  understand  everything  in  life,"  she 
said,  coolly. 


268  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

"  Now,  Ernestine — he  was  lovely  about  you. 
Would  he  have  shown  any  feeling  at  all  if  he  didn't 
care  a  great  deal  for  your  work?  Does  any  one  fly 
into  a  rage  at  my  not  painting?  He  said  you 
were  one  American  woman  who  was  an  artist  in 
stead  of  *  a  woman  who  paints.'  It  seems  he  saw 
the  Salon  picture.  Oh,  he  said  beautiful  things 
about  you." 

Ernestine  did  not  answer.  She  was  standing  there 
very  quietly,  her  hand  on  the  knob.  "  Now,  .Ernes 
tine,"  Georgia  went  on,  after  the  manner  of  one  bound 
to  have  it  out,  "  I've  tried  all  winter  to  cultivate  re 
pression.  I  don't  know  what  it  is  you  are  trying  to  do 
over  there  in  the  laboratory.  You  asked  me  to  do 
two  things — not  to  ask  you  about  it,  and  not  to  men 
tion  it  to  Karl.  I  haven't  done  either,  but  I  want  to 
tell  you  right  now  if  you  have  any  idea  of  giving  up 
your  own  work  I  think  it's  time  for  your  friends  to 
inquire  into  your  mental  workings !  The  very  fact 
you  don't  want  Karl  to  know  about  it  shows  you  know 
very  well  Tie  won't  think  it's  right.  Anything  that 
relates  to  his  work  can  be  done  by  people  who  do 
that  kind  of  work  a  great  deal  better  than  you  can. 
Really,  Ernestine,  the  thing  is  positively  fanatical. 
And  anyway," — this  with  the  air  of  delivering  the 
overpowering — "  I  don't  think  it  is  at  all  nice  the 
way  you  are  taking  other  men  into  your  confidence 
and  deceiving  Karl." 

She  met  that  with  a  little  laugh.  "  Dear  me — what 
laudable  sentiment.  I've  always  heard  there  was  no 
one  half  so  proper  as  the  girl  about  to  be  married. 


UNPAINTED   MASTERPIECES        269 

Never  mind,  Georgia,"— a  little  more  seriously,^ 
little  as  if  it  would  not  be  hard  to  cry — "  Karl  will 
forgive  me — some  day." 

"  But,  Ernestine,  I  want  you  to  work!  Can't  you 
see  how  awful  it  is  for  you  not  to— express  your 
self?" 

"  I  am  going  to  express  myself,"  she  answered, 
lightly  enough,  but  after  she  had  gone  Georgia  won 
dered  just  what  she  had  meant  by  that. 

She  decided,  when  she  came  out  of  the  apartment 
building,  that  she  would  take  a  little  walk.  It  was 
just  cold  enough  to  be  exhilarating,  and  she  felt  the 
need  of  something  bracing.  She  was  wishing  as  she 
walked  along  very  fast,  responding  to  the  keen,  good 
air,  that  Karl  were  with  her  now.  Karl  did  not  ex 
ercise  enough,  and  when  he  did  yield  to  her  supplica 
tions  and  go  for  a  walk  with  her  he  did  not  seem  to 
enjoy  it  as  she  wished  he  might.  "After  a  while, 
liebchen,"  he  would  say.  "  I'll  be  more  accustomed  to 
things  after  a  while.  And  meanwhile  there's  plenty 
of  fresh  air  right  here  in  our  back  yard."  "  But  it 
isn't  just  getting  the  fresh  air,"  she  would  protest, 
"it's  enjoying  it  while  you're  getting  it." — "Wait 
till  spring  comes,"  he  would  sometimes  answer.  "  I'm 
going  to  get  out  more  then." 

When  she  saw  she  was  near  one  of  the  stations  of 
the  Illinois  Central  she  stopped,  a  little  confused. 
Could  it  be  she  had  meant  all  the  time  to  come  here? 
Looking  to  the  south,  she  saw  that  at  the  next  sta 
tion,  not  three  blocks  away,  the  train  which  would 
take  her  to  the  city  in  ten  minutes  was  just  arriving. 


270  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

The  Art  Institute  was  only  two  blocks  from  the 
Van  Buren  Street  station; —  those  facts  associated 
themselves  quickly  in  her  mind.  She  looked  at  her 
watch:  not  quite  three.  Karl  had  said  he  would  be 
busy  with  Mr.  Ross  until  five.  She  stood  there  in 
hesitation.  She  had  seen  no  pictures  since — oh  it 
was  too  long  ago  to  remember.  What  harm  could  it 
do  her?  And  anyway — this  with  something  of  the 
uprising  of  the  truant  child — it  was  Christmas  time ! 
Every  one  else  was  taking  a  vacation,  why — =but  here 
it  was  all  swept  into  the  imperative  consciousness 
that  she  had  no  time  to  lose,  and  she  was  at  the 
ticket  window  before  she  was  quite  sure  that  she  had 
made  up  her  mind. 

It  was  all  so  strange  then;  exhilaration  mounted 
high  for  a  little  while,  but  there  followed  a  very 
tense  excitement.  She  tried  to  laugh  at  herself,  con 
tend  that  she  was  coming  for  enjoyment,  relaxation, 
that  it  was  absurd  to  go  to  pieces  this  way ;  but 
things  long  suppressed  called  for  their  own,  and  the 
man  to  whom  she  gave  her  admission  fee  wondered  for 
a  long  time  after  she  had  passed  him  just  what  it  was 
about  her  seemed  so  strange. 

How  good  it  was !  How  good  to  be  back  among 
her  own  kind  of  things !  In  the  laboratory  every  one 
knew  more  than  she  did;  there  she  was  repressed, 
humble  even,  gratefully  accepting  the  crumbs  of 
knowledge  falling  from  their  tables.  It  was  good  to 
feel  for  a  little  while  that  she  was  some  place  where 
she  knew  a  great  deal  about  things.  She  wished  Mr. 
Willard  or  Mr.  Beason  would  happen  along  that  she 


UNPAINTED    MASTERPIECES        271 

might  give  them  some  insight  into  the  colossalness  of 
their  ignorance. 

She  turned  down  the  corridor  leading  to  the  room 
where  she  would  find  the  special  exhibit.  She  stopped 
before  many  of  the  pictures — reverting  to  that  joy 
of  the  spirit  in  dominance.  There  was  exultation, 
almost  rapture,  in  this  quick,  firm  rush  of  under 
standing;  deep  joy  in  just  knowing  the  good  from 
the  bad. 

But  when  she  reached  the  pictures  she  had  come 
to  see  it  was  different.  She  walked  to  the  middle  of 
the  room,  and  in  one  slow  sweep  of  glance,  punctuated 
with  long  pauses,  took  them  in.  And  she  responded 
to  them  with  a  warm,  glad  rush  of  tears. 

They  fell  upon  her  artist's  soul  as  the  very  lovely 
rain  upon  the  thirsty  meadow.  They  drew  her  to 
them  as  the  mother  the  homesick  child,  and  like  the 
homesick  child,  back  at  last  after  weary  days,  she 
knew  only  that  she  had  come  home.  In  this  first 
overflowing  moment  there  was  no  thought  of  colour 
— brush  work — this  or  that  triumphant  audacity; 
it  was  a  coming  to  her  own,  a  home-coming  of  the 
spirit — the  heart's  passionate  thankfulness,  the 
heart's  response. 

A  few  minutes  of  reverent  pause,  a  high  delight, 
deep  response,  and  then — the  inevitable.  Clear  as  a 
bell  upon  the  midnight  air  was  that  call  from  soul  to 
kindred  soul.  Assurance  and  longing  and  demand 
possessed  her  beyond  all  power  to  stay.  The  work 
she  stood  before  now  called  to  her  as  naturally  and 
inevitably  as  the  bird  to  its  mate,  as  undeniably 


THE    GLORY    OF.    THE    CONQUERED 

as  the  sea  to  the  river,  as  potently  as  spring  calls 
upon  earth  for  its  own,  as  autumn  calls  to  summer 
for  harvest  time. 

It  frightened  her.  It  seemed  something  within  her 
over  which  she  had  no  control.  It  surged  through 
her  as  far  beyond  all  reason  as  the  tides  of  the  sea 
are  beyond  the  hand  of  man.  It  was  procreative 
power  demanding  fulfilment  as  the  child  ready  for 
birth  demands  that  it  be  born.  .  .  . 

She  was  conscious  of  some  one's  having  -come  into 
the  room.  That  her  face  might  not  be  seen  she 
turned  away  and  sat  down  before  one  of  the  pictures. 
She  was  quivering  so  passionately  that  it  seemed  al 
most  impossible  to  hold  herself  within  command. 

The  girl  who  had  come  in  was  moving  restlessly 
from  one  picture  to  another;  at  last  she  walked  over 
and  sat  down  on  the  seat  by  Ernestine. 

"  I  think  I  like  this  one  best,"  she  said,  abruptly, 
nodding  to  the  picture  before  them. 

Ernestine  nodded  in  reply.  She  was  not  sure  what 
would  happen  were  she  to  speak.  The  girl  she  sup 
posed  to  be  one  of  the  students  there. 

"  I  would  give  anything  in  the  world — just  any 
thing  in  the  world — if  I  could  do  it  too !  " 

At  the  passion  of  that  she  turned  quickly  and 
looked  at  the  girl.  In  spite  of  the  real  feeling  of 
her  tone  a  fretful  look  was  predominant  in  her 
face. 

"Do  you — work  hard?"  she  asked,  merely  to  re 
lieve  the  pause. 

*'  Work — yes ;  but  mere  work  won't  do  it.    I  can't 


UNPAINTED    MASTERPIECES        273 

do  anything  like  this," — it  was  in  bitterness  she 
said  it. 

"  Very  few  can,  you  know,"  murmured  Ernestine. 

"  Yes — but  I  want  to !  I  don't  care  anything 
about  life — I  don't  care  anything  about  anything — 
if  I  can't  paint !  " 

It  struck  her  immediately  as  so  entirely  wrong. 
She  looked  at  the  girl,  and  then  again  at  the  pictures. 
All  the  great  things  they  conveyed  were  passing 
her  by.  She  missed  the  essence  of  it.  The  greatness 
of  the  work  merely  moved  her  to  anger  because  she 
was  not  great  herself.  It  was  an  attitude  to  close 
the  soul. 

"  But  you  should  care  for  life,"  she  said,  in  her 
very  gentle  way.  "  Do  the  best  you  can  with  your 
own  work,  but  work  like  this  should,  above  everything 
else,  make  you  care  for  life." 

The  girl  moved  impatiently.  "  You  don't  under 
stand.  I  guess  you  are  not  an  artist,"  and  she  rose 
and  went  away. 

Ernestine  smiled  a  trifle,  but  the  strange  little 
interview  had  opened  up  a  long  vista.  The  girl 
represented,  in  extreme  measure,  but  fundamentally, 
the  professional  attitude.  Most  artists  saw  work 
in  relation  to  themselves.  Pictures  were  either  better 
or  worse  than  they  could  do.  They  came  to  the  great 
things  like  these,  seeking  something,  usually  some 
mechanical  device,  to  take  away  to  their  own  work. 
She  could  see  so  plainly  now  the  shallowness  of 
that. 

Her  own  mood  had  changed, — broken.    Perhaps  it 


274    THE    GLORY    OF.    THE1    CONQUERED 

was  the  consciousness  that  she  too  had  been  seeing 
it  in  relation  to  herself,  or  it  may  have  been  but 
natural  reaction.  The  big  uprising  was  dying  down ; 
the  heat  of  the  passion  had  passed ;  it  was  all  different 
now,  and  in  the  wake  of  her  brimming  moment  there 
came  the  calm  that  follows  storm,  the  sadness  of  spirit 
which  attends  the  re-enthronement  of  reason,  but  also 
the  understanding,  far-seeingness,  which  is  the  after 
math  of  great  passion  like  that. 

There  had  come  to  her,  as  she  sat  there  beside  the 
girl,  a  throbbing  determination  to  do  both  things. 
The  thought  had  come  before,  but  always  to  be  ban 
ished.  It  came  now  with  new  insistence  just  because 
anything  else  seemed  so  impossible.  There  had  never 
come,  even  to  the  outermost  edge  of  her  consciousness, 
the  thought  of  giving  up  the  work  she  was  going  to 
do  for  Karl.  Her  hardest  hour  had  never  even  sug 
gested  the  possibility  of  surrender.  Her  love  had  seen 
its  way ;  her  life  had  been  consecrated.  But  now, 
when  it  seemed  no  longer  within  her  power  to  deny 
the  work  for  which  she  had  been  ordained,  it  seemed 
that  to  fulfil  both  things  was  the  one  thing  possible. 
But  in  this  after-moment  of  unblurred  understanding 
she  saw  she  could  do  both  things  only  by  taking  from 
the  things  she  gave  to  Karl.  It  would  mean  giving 
her  soul  to  the  one,  and  what  she  had  left  to  the 
other.  And  she  knew  that  she  could  never  do  what 
she  meant  to  do  for  Karl  unless  she  gave  everything 
within  herself  to  that  cause.  The  chief  aim  of  her 
struggle  in  the  laboratory  had  not  been  to  acquire 
knowledge  and  usefulness — that  she  could  do,  she 


UNPAINTED    MASTERPIECES        275 

knew;  her  real  aim  had  been  to  give  to  Karl's  work 
the  things  she  had  always  given  to  her  own.  With  a 
divided  soul  she  could  do  no  more  for  him  than  any 
other  assistant.  She  was  seeking  to  give  him  herself. 
Oh  no — it  was  simple  enough ;  she  had  no  thought  of 
offering  Karl  an  empty  vessel. 

Her  mind  saw  it  all,  her  will  never  wavered,  but 
the  bruised,  conquered  spirit  quivered  under  the  pain. 
A  long  time  she  sat  there,  and  as  the  hour  went  by 
a  strange  thing  happened.  The  pictures  were  heal 
ing  the  spirit  which  they  had  torn.  As  they  had 
first  moved  her  to  the  frenzy  for  achievement,  had 
then  left  her  with  the  pain  of  relinquishment,  they 
were  bringing  her  now  something  of  the  balm  of 
peace.  How  big  they  were ! — first  passion,  then  pain, 
then  understanding,  now  strength. 

Ernestine  came  in  that  hour  to  see  a  great  truth. 
It  was  something  she  worked  out  for  herself,  some 
thing  taught  her  by  life  and  her  own  heart,  and  thot 
is  why  it  reached  her  soul  as  it  could  never  have  done 
had  she  but  read  it  in  books.  She  came  to  see  that 
the  greatest  thing  in  life  was  to  be  in  harmony  with 
the  soul  of  the  world.  She  came  into  the  understand 
ing  that  to  do  that,  one  need  not  of  necessity  paint 
great  pictures,  one  need  not  stand  for  any  specific 
achievement,  one  need  only  so  work  out  one's  life 
that  one  made  for  harmony  and  not  for  discord.  The 
greatest  thing  pictures  could  do  was  to  draw  men 
into  this  world  harmony.  These  pictures  were  great 
because  they  reached  the  soul,  and  she  came  to  see, 
and  this  is  what  few  do  see,  that  the  soul  which  is 


276    THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

reached  is  not  less  great  than  the  soul  which  has 
spoken.  She  too  could  have  been  one  of  the  souls 
to  speak;  she  accepted  that  in  the  simplicity  with 
which  we  receive  the  indisputable,  but  it  was  good 
to  think  that  she  would  not  have  failed  utterly  in 
fulfilling  herself,  if  at  the  end,  no  matter  through 
what,  she  made  for  harmony,  and  not  for  discord. 

She  grew  so  quiet  then:  the  quiet  of  deep  under 
standing.  A  long  time  she  sat  before  a  picture  of 
light  out  beyond  some  trees.  Oh  what  a  world — with 
the  light  coming  through  the  trees  like  that,  and  men 
to  see  it,  and  make  it  seen!  She  wished  Karl  might 
see  these  pictures;  she  looked  at  them  with  a  new 
intentness, — she  would  tell  Karl  all  about  them;  he 
would  be  so  glad  she  had  come. 

She  rose  to  go.  Once  more  she  looked  around  at 
the  pictures,  and  to  her  eyes  there  came  a  dimness, 
and  to  her  spirit  a  deep  and  tender  yearning.  There 
would  be  j  oy  in  having  done  such  work  as  this.  But 
there  were  other  things !  To  work  out  one's  life 
as  bravely  and  well  as  one  knew  how,  to  do  what 
seemed  best,  to  be  faithful  and  unfailing  to  those  who 
were  nearest  one,  to  be  willing  to  lay  down  one's  life 
for  one's  love, — perhaps  when  the  end  of  the  world 
was  reached,  and  all  things  translated  in  terms  of 
universal  things,  to  have  done  that  would  itself  mean 
the  painting  of  a  masterpiece.  Perhaps  the  God  of 
things  as  they  are  would  see  the  unpainted  pictures. 


CHAPTER    XXX 
EYES  FOR  TWO 

THIS  day  smells  as  though  it  had  been  made  in 
the  country,"  Karl  said,  leaning  from  the 
dining  room  window  which  Ernestine  had 
thrown  wide  open  as  she  rose  from  the  break 
fast  table. 

"  Yes,  and  looks  that  way,"  she  responded,  leaning 
out  herself,  and  taking  a  long  draught  of  the  spring. 

"  Let's  take  a  walk,"  he  said  abruptly. 

"  Except  when  you  asked  me  to  marry  you — you 
never  proposed  a  more  delightful  thing,"  she  re 
sponded  with  gayer  laugh  than  he  had  heard  for  a 
long  time. 

"  Suppose  we  walk  down  through  the  park  and 
take  a  look  at  the  lake,"  he  suggested. 

"  I  call  that  a  genuine  inspiration !  "  —losing  no 
time  in  getting  Karl's  things  and  her  own. 

Nothing  could  have  pleased  her  more  than  this.  It 
seemed  beginning  the  spring  right. 

"  I  can  fancy  we  are  in  Europe,"  he  said,  after  they 
had  gone  a  little  way,  and  she  laughed  understand- 
ingly ; — this  seemed  closer  to  the  spirit  of  the  old 
days  than  they  had  come  for  a  long  time. 

Her  guiding  hand  was  on  his  arm,  but  more  as  if 
she  liked  to  have  it  there,  than  as  though  necessary. 
46  Your  little  finger  could  pilot  me\  through  Hades," 

277 


278     THE    GLORY    OF    THE1    CONQUERED 

he  said,  lovingly,  gratefully,  as  a  light  touch  told 
him  of  a  step  to  go  down,  and  again  she  laughed ;  it 
was  very  easy  to  laugh  this  morning. 

The  winter,  full  of  hard  things  for  them  both,  had 
gone  now,  and  spring,  as  is  spring's  way,  held  prom 
ise.  In  the  laboratory  they  no  longer  treated  Ernes 
tine  with  mere  courteous  interest.  That  day  in  De 
cember  when  she  went  down  to  Dr.  Parkman's  opera 
tion  had  marked  a  change.  Since  then  there  had 
been  a  light  ahead,  a  light  which  shed  its  rays  down 
the  path  she  must  go. 

What  did  it  matter  if  she  were  a  little  stupid  about 
this  or  that,  if  Mr.  Season  was  unconsciously  rude 
or  Mr.  Willard  consciously  polite?  For  she  knew 
now — and  did  anything  matter  save  the  final  things? 
With  her  own  feeling  of  its  not  mattering  their  atti 
tude  had  seemed  to  change ;  she  became  more  as  one 
with  them — she  was  quick  to  get  that  difference. 
"  You're  arriving  on  the  high  speed,"  Dr.  Parkman 
had  assured  her  when  he  visited  the  laboratory  a  few 
days  before. 

So  she  knew  why  she  was  happy,  for  added  to  all 
that  was  it  not  a  glorious  and  propitious  thing  that 
Karl  felt  like  taking  a  walk  ?  Did  it  not  argue  a  new 
interest  in  life — a  new  determination  not  to  be  shut 
off  from  it  ?  And  Karl — why  did  he  too  seem  to  feel 
that  the  spring  held  new  and  better  things?  Was  it 
just  the  call  of  spring,  or  did  Karl  sense  the  good 
things  ahead?  Could  it  be  that  her  soul,  unable  to 
contain  itself  longer,  had  whispered  to  his  that  new 
days  were  coming? 


EYES    FOR    TWO  279 

"  Why,  even  a  fellow  on  his  way  to  the  peniten 
tiary  for  life  would  have  to  get  some  enjoyment  out 
of  this  morning,"  he  said,  after  they  had  stood  still 
for  a  minute  to  listen  to  the  song  of  a  bird,  and  had 
caught  the  sweetness  of  a  flowering  tree. 

"  And  oh,  Karl,"  she  laughed,  joyously,  "  you're 
not  on  your  way  to  the  penitentiary  for  life." 

"  No,"  he  said,  and  he  seemed  to  be  speaking  to 
something  within  himself  rather  than  to  her, — "  I'm 
not!  " 

They  had  reached  Jackson  Park,  and  sat  down  for 
a  little  rest  before  they  should  wend  their  way  on  to 
the  lake.  "  Oh,  Ernestine,"  he  said,  taking  it  in  in 
long  breaths,  feeling  the  dew  upon  his  face,  and  hear 
ing  the  murmur  of  many  living  things, — "  tell  me 
about  it,  dear.  I  want  to  see  it  too !  " 

"  Karl — every  tree  looks  as  though  it  were  just  as 
glad  as  we  are!  Can't  you  feel  that  the  trees  feel 
just  as  we  do  about  things?  The  leaves  haven't  all 
come  out  yet,  some  of  them  are  holding  themselves 
within  themselves  in  a  coy  little  way  they  have — 
although  intending  all  the  time  to  come  out  just  as 
fast  as  ever  they  can.  And  it's  that  glorious,  un 
spoiled  green — the  kind  nature  uses  to  make  painters 
feel  foolish.  Oh,  nature's  having  much  fun  with  the 
painters  this  morning.  Right  over  there," — point 
ing  with  his  finger — "  is  such  a  beautiful  tree.  I  like 
it  because  all  of  its  branches  did  not  go  in  the  way 
they  were  expected  to  go.  Several  of  them  were  very 
perverse  children,  who  mother  trunk  thought  at  one 
time  were  going  to  ruin  her  life,  but  you  know  lives 


280    THE    GLORY    OF    THE   CONQUERED 

aren't  so  easily  ruined  after  all.  6  Now  you  go  right 
up  there  at  an  angle  of  twenty-two  degrees,'  she 
said  to  her  eldest  child.  *  Not  at  all,'  said  the  first 
born,  '  I  intend  to  lean  right  over  here  at  whatsoever 
angle  will  best  express  my  individuality.'  And  though 
the  mother  grieved  for  a  long  time  she  knows  now — 
Karl — how  foolish  we  are!  But  listen.  You  hear 
that  bird  who  is  trying  to  get  all  of  his  soul  into  his 
throat  at  once?  He's  'way  up  there  on  the  top 
branch,  higher  than  everything  else,  and  so  pleased 
and  proud  that  he  is,  and  he's  singing  to  a  little  blue 
cloud  straight  above  him,  and  I  tell  you  I  never  saw 
such  blue — such  blue  within  blue.  Its  outside  dress 
is  a  very  filmy  blue,  but  that's  made  over  an  under 
dress  of  deeper  blue,  and  there's  just  a  little  part  in 
it  where  you  can  see  right  into  the  heart,  and  that's 
a  blue  so  deep  and  rich  it  makes  you  want  to  cry. 
And  oh,  Karl — the  heart  itself  has  opened  a  little 
now,  and  you  can  get  a  suggestion,  just  a  very  in 
definite  suggestion — but  then  all  inner  things  are 
indefinite — that  inside  the  heart  of  the  cloud  is  its 
soul,  and  you  are  permitted  one  fleeting  glimpse  to 
tell  you  that  the  soul  of  the  cloud  is  such  a  blue  as 
never  was  dreamed  of  on  land  or  on  sea." 

"  /  can  see  that  cloud,"  he  said, — "  and  the  bird 
looking  up  at  it,  and  the  tree  whose  eldest  child  was 
so  perverse  and  so — individual." 

"And,  Karl,"  she  went  on,  in  joyous  eagerness, 
"  can't  you  see  how  the  earth  heaved  a  sigh  right 
here  a  couple  of  hundred  centuries  ago — now  don't 
tell  me  the  park  commissioners  made  them ! — and  that 


EVES   FOR    TWO  281 

when  it  settled  back  from  its  sigh  it  never  was  quite 
the  same  again?  It  was  a  sigh  of  content — for  the 
little  slopes  are  so  gentle.  Gentle  little  hills  are  sighs 
of  content,  and  bigger  ones  are  determinations,  and 
mountains — what  are  mountains,  Karl?  " 

"  Mountains  are  revolutionary  instincts,"  he  said, 
smiling  at  her  fancifulness — Ernestine  was  always 
fanciful  when  she  was  happy. 

"  Yes,  that's  it.  Sometimes  I  like  the  stormy  up 
heavals  which  change  the  whole  face  of  the  earth,  but 
this  morning  it's  nice  to  have  just  the  little  sighs  of 
content.  And,  dear — now  turn  around  and  look 
this  way.  You  can't  really  see  the  lake  at  all — but 
you  can  tell  by  looking  down  that  way  that  it  is 
there." 

"  How  can  you  tell,  liebchen?  "  he  asked,  just  to 
hear  her  talk. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  how  you  can.  It's  not  scien 
tific  knowledge — it's — the  other  kind.  The  trees 
know  that  the  lake  is  there." 

"  Let's  walk  down  to  the  lake,"  he  said.  "  I  want 
to  feel  it  on  my  face.  And  oh,  liebchen — it's  good  to 
have  you  tell  about  things  like  this." 

As  they  walked  she  told  him  of  all  she  saw:  the 
people  they  met,  and  what  she  was  sure  the  people 
were  thinking  about.  Once  she  laughed  aloud,  and 
when  he  was  asked  what  she  was  laughing  at,  she 
said,  "  Oh,  that  chap  we  just  passed  was  amusing. 
His  eyes  were  saying — '  My  allowance  is  all  gone  and 
I  haven't  a  red  sou — but  isn't  it  a  bully  day?  '  " 

"  There's  no  reason  why  I  should  be  shut  out  from 


282    THE    GLORY    OF,    THE    CONQUERED 

the  world,  Ernestine,"  he  said  vigorously,  "  when 
you  have  eyes  for  two." 

"Why,  that's  just  what  I  think!"  she  said, 
quickly,  her  voice  low,  and  her  heart  beating  fast. 

The  shadows  upon  the  grass,  the  nursemaids  and 
the  babies,  the  boys  and  girls  playing  tennis,  or  just 
strolling  around  happy  to  be  alive — she  could  make 
Karl  see  them  all.  And  as  they  came  in  sight  of  the 
lake  she  began  telling  him  how  it  looked  in  the  dis 
tance,  how  it  seemed  at  first  just  a  cloud  dropped 
down  from  the  sky,  but  how,  upon  coming  nearer,  it 
was  not  the  stuff  that  clouds  are  made  of,  but  a  live 
thing,  a  great  live  thing  pulsing  with  joy  in  the 
morning  sunshine.  She  told  him  how  some  of  it  was 
blue  and  some  of  it  was  green,  while  some  of  it  was 
blue  wedded  to  green,  and  some  of  it  too  elusive  to 
have  anything  to  do  with  the  spectrum.  "  And, 
dearie — it  is  flirting  with  the  sunlight — flirting 
shamefully;  I'm  almost  ashamed  for  the  lake,  only 
it's  so  happy  in  its  flirtation  that  perhaps  it  is  not 
bothered  with  moral  consciousness.  But  it  seems 
to  want  the  sunlight  to  catch  it,  and  then  it  seems  to 
want  to  get  away,  and  sometimes  a  sunbeam  gets  a 
little  wave  that  stayed  too  long  and  kisses  it  right 
here  in  open  day — and  isn't  it  awful — but  isn't  it 
nice?" 

In  so  many  ways  she  told  how  the  lake  seemed  to 
her — how  it  seemed  to  her  eyes  and  how  it  seemed  to 
her  heart  and  how  it  seemed  to  her  soul,  how  it  looked, 
what  it  said,  what  it  meant ;  what  the  clouds  thought 
of  it,  and  what  the  sunlight  thought  of  it,  what  the 


EYES    FOR    TWO  283 

wind  thought  of  it,  what  the  dear  babies  on  the  shore 
thought  of  it,  and  what  it  thought  of  itself.  She 
could  not  have  talked  that  way  to  any  one  else,  but 
it  was  so  easy  for  her  heart  to  talk  to  Karl's  heart. 
One  pair  of  eyes  could  do  just  as  well  as  two  when 
hearts  were  tuned  like  this ! 

And  then,  when  she  did  not  feel  like  talking  any 
more,  they  stood  there  and  learned  many  things  from 
the  voice  of  the  lake  itself.  "  Ernestine,"  he  said, 
when  they  turned  from  it  at  last,  "  it  seems  to  me  I 
never  saw  Lake  Michigan  quite  so  well  before." 


CHAPTER    XXXI 

SCIENCE    AND    SUPER-SCIENCE 

INSUBORDINATE     children     who     play     off 
from  school  in  the  morning  must  work  in  the 
afternoon,"   Karl   said   at  luncheon,   and  they 
went  to  their  work  that  afternoon  with  fresh 
ened  spirit. 

When  the  McCormicks  gave  up  their  flat  at  Christ 
mas  time,  Beason  had  come  to  live  with  the  Hubers. 
Ernestine  prided  herself  upon  some  cleverness  in  hav 
ing  rented  two  rooms  without  Karl's  suspecting  it 
was  a  matter  of  renting  the  rooms.  When  he  engaged 
Ross  as  his  secretary  in  the  fall  she  said  it  would  be 
more  convenient  for  them  all  for  Mr.  Ross  to  have 
his  room  there.  They  had  an  extra  room,  so  why 
not  ?  She  did  not  put  it  the  other  way — that  she  felt 
the  house  more  expensive  than  they  should  have  now. 
Of  course  Karl  would  make  money  in  his  books — 
that  had  been  settled  in  advance,  but  things  had 
changed  for  them,  and  Ernestine  felt  the  need  of  cau 
tion.  Then  as  to  Beason,  she  said  there  was  that  lit 
tle  room  he  could  have,  and  it  would  do  the  boy  good 
to  be  there.  "  You  like  John,"  she  said  to  Karl,  "  and 
as  he  has  not  yet  been  graduated  into  philosophy,  he 
may  be  more  companionable  than  Mr.  Ross."  And 
Karl  said  by  all  means  to  have  Beason  if  it  wouldn't 
bother  her  to  have  him  around. 

284 


SCIENCE    AND    SUPER-SCIENCE       285 

She  was  glad  of  that  for  more  reasons  than  a  re 
duced  rent ;  Beason  had  become  a  great  help  to  Er 
nestine.  After  he  came  there  to  live  they  fitted  up 
some  things  for  her  in  her  studio,  and  she  managed 
to  get  in  a  number  of  extra  hours  when  Karl  thought 
she  was  busy  with  her  pictures. 

In  her  glow  of  spirit  this  afternoon — that  walk  in 
the  park  had  meant  so  much  as  holding  promise  for 
the  future — Ernestine  was  even  willing  to  admit, 
looking  back  upon  it,  that  the  winter  had  not  been 
nearly  so  bad  as  one  would  suppose.  Mr.  Beason 
and  Mr.  Ross  were  both,  in  their  differing  ways,  alert 
and  interesting,  and  there  had  been  some  good  wran 
gles  around  the  evening  fire.  Other  people  had 
found  them  out,  and  they  had  drawn  to  them  an  in 
teresting  group  of  friends.  So  the  days  had  flowed 
steadily  on,  a  brave  struggle  to  meet  life  in  good  part, 
keep  that  good-fellowship  of  the  spirit. 

One  of  the  hardest  things  of  all  had  been  deceiving 
Karl.  Her  reason  justified  it,  but  it  hurt  her  heart. 
They  had  been  able  to  do  it,  however,  better  than  she 
would  have  believed  possible.  Mr.  Ross  was  with  him 
most  of  the  time  when  she  was  not,  and  had  fre 
quently  been  forced  to  intercept  some  caller  who  was 
close  to  an  innocent  remark  about  Mrs.  Hubers 
being  over  at  the  university.  Several  times  Karl  had 
caught  the  odour  of  the  laboratory  about  her,  and 
she  had  been  forced  to  explain  it  as  the  odour  of  the 
studio ;  and  more  than  once,  in  the  midst  of  a  discus 
sion,  her  interest  had  beguiled  her  into  some  surpris 
ingly  intelligent  remark,  and  she  had  been  obliged  to 


286    THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

invent  laughing  reasons  for  knowing  anything  about 
it.  It  hurt  her  deeply  to  take  advantage  of  Karl's 
blindness  in  keeping  things  from  him,  even  though  the 
motive  was  all  love  for  Karl,  and  determination  to 
help.  She  would  be  so  glad  when  all  that  was  over, 
and  she  thought  as  she  worked  along  very  hard  that 
afternoon  that  perhaps  it  would  not  be  many  days 
now  until  Karl  should  know. 

That  would  be  for  Dr.  Parkman  to  say;  so  many 
vital  things  seemed  left  to  Dr.  Parkman.  "  Did  you 
ever  think,"  she  said,  turning  to  Mr.  Beason,  who 
was  busy  at  the  table  beside  her,  "  what  the  doctor 
really  counts  for  in  this  world?  " 

"  Yes — in  a  way,"  said  Beason,  adjusting  his  mi 
croscope,  "  but  then  I  never  was  sick  much." 

"Well,  I  didn't  mean  just  taking  one's  pulse," 
she  laughed.  "  It  seems  to  me  they  mean  more  than 
prescriptions.  For  one  thing,  I  think  it's  rather 
amusing  the  way  they  all  practice  Christian  Sci 
ence." 

"  Why — what  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  demanded, 
aroused  now,  and  shocked. 

"  Oh,  I've  come  to  the  conclusion  that  a  modern, 
first-class  doctor  is  a  Christian  Scientist  who  pre 
serves  his  sanity" — she  paused,  laughing  a  little  at 
Beason's  bewildered  face,  and  at  the  thought  of  how 
little  her  formula  would  be  appreciated  in  either 
camp.  "  I've  noticed  it  down  at  Dr.  Parkman's  of 
fice,"  she  went  on.  "  It's  quite  a  study  to  listen  to 
him  at  the  telephone.  He  will  wrangle  around  all 
sorts  of  corners  to  get  patients  to  admit  something  is 


SCIENCE    AND    SUPER-SCIENCE       287 

in  better  shape  than  it  was  yesterday,  and  though 
they  called  up  to  say  they  were  worse,  they  end  in 
admitting  they  are  much  better.  He  just  forces  them 
into  saying  something  is  better,  and  then  he  says, 
triumphantly,  '  Oh — that's  fine ! ' — and  the  patient 
rings  off  immensely  cheered  up." 

"  That's  a  kind  of  trickery,  though,"  said  Beason. 

"  Pretty  good  kind  of  trickery,  if  it  helps  people 
get  well." 

"Well  I  shouldn't  care  to  be  a  practicing  physi 
cian,"  Beason  declared,  "  just  for  that  reason.  That 
sort  of  business  would  be  very  distasteful  to  me." 

Ernestine  was  about  to  say  something,  and  then 
relegated  it  to  the  things  better  left  unsaid ;  but  she 
permitted  herself  a  wise  little  smile. 

"  I  don't  think  it's  such  an  awfully  high  grade  of 
work,"  he  went  on.  "  In  a  way  it  is — of  course. 
But  there's  so  much  repetition  and  routine;  so  much 
that  doesn't  count  scientifically  at  all — doesn't  count 
for  anything  but  the  patient." 

"  But  what  is  science  for?  "  she  demanded,  aggra 
vated  now.  "  Has  medical  science  any  value  save 
in  its  relation  to  human  beings?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  I  know — in  the  end,"  he  admitted 
vaguely. 

"All  this  laboratory  work  is  simply  to  throw  more 
power  into  the  hands  of  the  general  practitioner. 
It's  to  give  him  more  light.  It's  just  because  his 
work  is  so  important  that  this  work  has  any  reason 
for  being.  Dr.  Hubers  saw  it  that  way,"  she  con 
cluded,  with  the  air  of  delivering  the  unanswerable. 


288  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

"  But  even  that  wasn't  just  what  I  meant,"  she 
went  on,  after  they  had  worked  silently  for  a  few 
minutes.  "  What  I  was  thinking  about  was  the  super- 
doctor." 

Beason  simply  stared. 

"  No,  not  entirely  crazy,"  she  laughed.  "  For  in 
stance:  what  can  a  man  do  for  nervous  indigestion 
without  infusing  a  little  hope?  Think  of  what  doc 
tors  know — not  only  about  people's  bodies,  but  about 
their  lives.  Cause  and  effect  overlap — don't  they? 
Half  the  time  a  run  down  body  means  a  broken 
spirit,  or  a  twisted  life.  How  can  you  set  part  of  a 
thing  right  when  the  whole  of  it's  wrong?  How  can 
a  doctor  be  just  a  doctor — if  he's  a  good  one?  " 

But  nothing  "  super  "  could  be  expected  of  Beason. 
His  very  blank  face  recalled  her  to  the  absurdity 
of  getting  out  of  focus  with  one's  audience. 

She  herself  felt  it  strongly.  It  seemed  to  her  that 
Dr.  Parkman's  real  gift  was  his  endowment  in  in 
tuition.  When  all  was  going  well  she  heard  nothing 
from  him ;  but  let  things  begin  to  drag,  and  the  doc 
tor  appeared,  rich  in  resources.  He  seemed  to  have 
in  reserve  a  wide  variety  of  stimulants. 

He  looked  in  upon  them  often.  Whenever  in  their 
neighbourhood  he  stopped,  and  though  frequently 
he  could  not  so  much  as  take  time  to  sit  down,  the 
day  always  went  a  little  better  for  his  coming.  "  If 
the  end  of  the  world  were  upon  us,  Dr.  Parkman 
could  avert  the  calamity  for  a  day  or  two — couldn't 
he,  Karl?  "  Ernestine  had  laughed  after  one  of  his 
visits. 


SCIENCE    AND    SUPER-SCIENCE       289 

This  proved  to  be  one  of  the  days  of  his  stopping 
in,  and  he  arrived  just  as  Karl  was  dictating  a  few 
final  sentences  to  Mr.  Ross.  While  they  were  finish 
ing — he  said  he  was  not  in  a  hurry  to-day — he  took 
a  keen  look  at  Karl's  face.  His  colour  was  not  good 
— the  doctor  thought ;  in  fact  several  things  were  not 
to  his  liking.  "  Too  many  hard  times  with  himself," 
he  summed  it  up. — "  Droopy.  Needs  a  bracer. 
Needs  to  get  back  in  the  harness — that's  the  only 
medicine  for  him." 

He  had  been  thinking  about  that  very  seriously 
of  late.  Ernestine  was  at  least  in  position  now  to 
show  the  possibilities  of  the  situation,  and  workng 
with  Karl  would  do  more  for  her  in  a  month  than 
working  along  this  way  would  do  in  five.  Why  not? 
No  matter  how  long  they  waited  it  was  going  to  be 
hard  at  first.  The  deep  lines  in  Karl's  face  furnished 
the  strongest  argument  against  further  waiting. 

"What  have  we  here?  "  he  asked,  picking  up  one 
of  the  embossed  books  lying  open  on  the  table  near 
Karl. 

"  I  presume  that's  my  Bible,"  Karl  replied. 

"  Has  it  come  to  this?  "  the  doctor  asked  drily. 

"  Didn't  we  ever  tell  you  the  story  of  my  Bible?  " 

"  No.  You  never  did.  I  never  suspected  you  had 
one." 

"  Oh  yes ;  the  Bible  was  the  first  book  of  this  sort 
I  had.  It  was  sent  to  me  by  some  home  missionary 
society,  some  woman's  organization — 

"  Fools  !  "  broke  in  Parkman. 

"  They  saw  in  the  paper  about  my  eyes  and  so 


£90     THE    GLORY    OF,    THE    CONQUERED 

they  said  to  themselves — '  Now  here  is  a  good  chance 
to  convert  one  of  those  ungodly  scientists.'  So  they 
sent  the  Bible  along  with  a  nice  little  note  saying 
that  now  I  would  have  time  to  read  it,  and  perhaps 
all  of  this  was  the  hand  of  God  leading  me — you  can 
construct  the  rest.  Well."  he  paused  with  a  laugh — 
"  Ernestine  was  mad." 

"  I  should  hope  so  !  "  growled  Parkman. 

"  She  was  so  divinely  angry  that  in  having  fun 
with  her  I  overlooked  being  enraged  myself.  Oh,  if 
I  could  only  give  you  any  idea  of  how  incensed  she 
was !  I  think  she  intended  notifying  the  Chicago 
police.  Really  I  don't  know  to  what  lengths  she 
would  have  gone  had  it  not  been  for  my  restraining 
influence.  And  then  she  constructed  a  letter.  It 
was  a  masterpiece — I  can  tell  you  that.  She  com 
pared  me  to  them — greatly  to  their  disadvantage. 
She  spoke  of  the  various  kinds  of  religious  manifesta 
tion — again  greatly  to  their  disadvantage." 

"  Did  she  send  it?  "  laughed  the  doctor. 

"  No.  I  persuaded  her  that  well-intentioned  peo 
ple  should  receive  the  same  kindly  tolerance  we  extend 
to  the  mentally  defective.  The  writing  of  the  letter 
in  itself  half  way  contented  her — it  was  such  a  splen 
did  expression  of  her  emotions.  Poor  old  girl,"  he 
added  musingly,  "  she  was  feeling  pretty  sore  about 
things  just  then." 

"  But  the  sequel  is  the  queer  part,"  he  went  on. 
"  I  began  to  read  their  Bible,  and  I  like  it.  It's 
part  of  the  irony  of  fate  that  I  haven't  gotten  from 


SCIENCE    AND    SUPER-SCIENCE       291 

it  the  things  they  intended  I  should;  but  I  tell  you 
part  of  this  Old  Testament  is  immense  reading.  You 
know,  Parkman,  I  suppose  we're  prejudiced  ourselves. 
We  don't  see  the  Bible  as  it  is  itself.  We  see  it  in 
relation  to  a  lot  of  people  who  surround  it.  And  be 
cause  we  don't  care  for  some  of  them  we  think  we 
shouldn't  care  for  it.  Whereas  the  thing  in  itself," 
he  concluded  cheerfully,  "  is  just  what  we'd  like." 

"And  how  go  your  own  books?"  Dr.  Parkman 
asked  him. 

Karl  shrugged  one  shoulder  in  a  nervous  little 
way  he  had  acquired.  "  Oh — so,  so.  Pretty  fair,  I 
guess."  His  face  settled  into  a  gloom  then,  but 
almost  immediately  he  roused  himself  from  it  to 
say,  in  a  voice  more  cheerful  than  spontaneous: 
"  They'll  be  finished  in  a  couple  of  weeks.  I'm  both 
glad  and  sorry.  Don't  know  just  what  I'll  go  at 
then." 

Again  he  seemed  to  settle  into  the  gloom  which 
the  doctor  could  see  was  ever  there  waiting  to  re 
ceive  him.  But  again  he  roused  himself  almost  im 
mediately.  Was  it  this  way  with  the  man  all  the 
time?  A  continuous  fight  against  surrendering? 
"  But  I'm  mighty  thankful  I've  had  the  books,"  he 
said.  "  They've  pulled  me  through  the  winter,  and 
they've  enabled  me  to  make  a  living.  Lord,  but  a 
man  would  hate  not  to  make  a  living!  "  he  concluded, 
straightening  up  a  trifle,  more  like  the  Karl  of  old. 

The  sheer  pathos  of  it  had  never  come  home  to  the 
doctor  as  it  did  with  that.  A  man  who  should  have 


THE    GLORY    OF.    THE    CONQUERED 

stood  upon  the  very  mountain  peaks  of  fame  now 
proudly  claiming  that  he  was  able  to  make  a  living! 
But  if  it  brought  home  the  pathos  of  the  situation 
it  also  brought  new  sense  of  the  manhood  of  Karl 
Hubers.  It  was  great — Parkman  told  himself — 
great !  A  man  who  felt  within  himself  all  the  forces 
which  make  for  greatness  could  force  himself  into  the 
place  of  the  average  man,  and  thank  the  Lord  that  he 
was  able  to  make  a  living ! 

"  Here's  a  little  scheme  I've  worked  out,"  Karl 
said,  and  opening  one  of  the  drawers  of  the  library 
table,  pulled  out  the  model  for  the  idea  he  had  worked 
out  for  reading  and  writing  in  braille. 

It  was  the  first  Dr.  Parkman  had  heard  of  it;  he 
wanted  to  know  all  about  it,  and  Karl  explained  how 
it  had  seemed  to  him  as  soon  as  he  learned  how  the 
blind  read  and  wrote  that  the  thing  could  be  simpli 
fied  and  vastly  improved.  So  he  had  worked  this 
out ;  he  explained  its  points  of  difference,  and  wanted 
to  know  what  Parkman  thought  of  it. 

"  Why,  man,"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  "  it  strikes 
me  you've  revolutionized  the  whole  business.  But — 
why,  Karl — nobody  ever  thought  of  this  before?  " 

"  The  usual  speech,"  laughed  Karl. 

"  But  in  this  case  it  seems  so  confoundedly  true." 

"  Well  I  believe  it  will  help  some,  and  I'll  be  glad 
of  that,"  he  added  simply.  "Oh  I  have  some  more 
schemes.  If  I've  got  to  be  blind  I'm  going  to  make 
blindness  a  better  business." 

"Our  old  friend  the  devil  didn't  do  so  well  then 
after  all,"  said  Dr.  Parkman  quietly.  "He  closed 


SCIENCE    AND    SUPER-SCIENCE       293 

up  one  channel,  but  he  didn't  figure  on  your  burrow 
ing  another." 

Karl  laughed.  "  Oh  this  won't  worry  him  much ; 
it  came  so  easily  I  can't  think  it  amounts  to  a  great 
deal.  But  as  long  as  I  was  used  to  scheming  things 
out  it — amused  me,  exercised  a  few  cells  that  were 
in  pretty  bad  need  of  a  job.  And  I  have  other 
ideas,"  he  repeated. 

Parkman  asked  what  Karl  intended  to  do  with 
his  model,  offering  some  suggestions.  The  doctor 
was  more  than  interested  and  pleased ;  he  was  deeply 
stirred.  "  Why,  confound  the  fellow,"  he  was  saying 
to  himself, — "  they  can't  knock  him  out !  They  knock 
him  down  in  one  place,  and  he  bobs  up  in  another !  " 
The  ideas  of  this  brain  were  as  difficult  to  suppress 
as  certain  other  things  in  nature.  Dam  up  one  place 
—they  find  another. 

They  smoked  their  cigars  and  talked  intermit 
tently  then;  they  were  close  enough  together  to  be 
silent  when  they  chose.  And  all  the  while  the 
undercurrent  of  Dr.  Parkman's  thought  flowed 
steadily  on. 

He  was  thinking  that  after  all  there  were  better 
things  to  do  with  fate  than  damn  it.  If  ever  a  man 
would  seem  justified  in  spending  his  soul  in  the  damn 
ing  of  fate,  that  man,  it  seemed  to  him,  was  the 
friend  beside  him.  And  while  he  had  done  some  of 
it,  perhaps  a  great  deal  more  than  any  one  knew, 
it  had  not  been  his  master-passion.  His  master- 
passion  had  been  to  press  on — press  on  to  he  knew 
not  what — there  was  the  glory  of  it !  It  was  easy 


294     THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

enough  to  work  toward  a  goal  sighted  ahead;  but  it 
took  a  Karl  Hubers  to  work  on  through  the  dark 
ness. 

And  ah,  there  was  a  good  time  coming !  The  doc 
tor's  sombre  face  relaxed  to  a  smile.  His  own  life 
seemed  almost  worth  living  now  just  because  he  had 
been  able  to  take  a  hand — yes,  and  play  a  few  good 
cards — in  this  little  game.  Those  things  Karl  had 
shown  him  to-day  made  it  seem  there  was  all  the  finer 
joy  in  bringing  him  back  to  the  things  which  were 
his  own.  He  had  been  thrust  from  out  the  gates,  but 
he  had  not  sat  whimpering  outside  the  wall.  He  had 
gone  on  and  sought  to  find  a  place  in  that  outer 
world  in  which  he  found  himself.  And  now  he  should 
come  back  to  his  own  through  gates  of  glory. 

Karl  asked  him  about  Ernestine  then.  How  was 
she  looking;  was  she  thin — pale?  Her  face  felt  pale 
to  him,  he  said.  He  had  urged  her  to  work,  because 
he  knew  she  would  be  happier  so,  but  Parkman  must 
see  to  it  she  did  not  overwork.  Had  he  seen  the  pic 
ture  on  which  she  was  working  so  hard?  He  asked 
that  wistfully ;  and  the  doctor's  face  was  soft,  and  a 
gentleness  crept  into  his  voice  as  he  said  he  believed 
he  was  to  see  the  great  picture  very  soon  now.  And 
then,  after  a  silence,  Karl  said,  softly,  very  tenderly 
— "  Bless  her  gamey  little  heart ! " 


CHAPTER    XXXII 
THE    DOCTOR    HAS    HIS   WAY 

IT  was  in  response  to  the  doctor's  telephone  mes 
sage  that  Ernestine  went  down  to  his  office  one 
afternoon  a  few  days  later.     Dr.  Parkman  had 
been  detained  at  the  hospital,  they  told  her,  but 
would  be  there  very  soon,  and  so  she  sat  down  in  the 
waiting  room,  which  was  already  well  filled.     Were 
there  always  people  there  waiting  for  him — and  did 
they    not    sometimes    grow    impatient    and   want    to 
find  a  doctor  who  would  not  keep  them  waiting  so 
long? 

The  woman  sitting  near  her  looked  friendly,  and 
so  she  asked :  "  Don't  you  get  very  tired  waiting 
for  Dr.  Parkman  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  sighed  the  woman,  "  very  tired." 

"Then  why  don't  you  go  to  some  doctor  who 
would  attend  to  you  more  quickly?"  she  pursued, 
moved  chiefly  by  the  desire  to  see  what  would  happen. 

The  woman  stared,  grew  red,  and  replied  frigidly : 
"  Because  I  do  not  wish  to." 

All  the  other  patients  were  staring  at  Ernestine, 
too.  "  Why  don't  you  do  that  yourself?  "  asked  a 
large  woman  with  a  sick-looking  small  boy. 

"  I  guess  if  there  was  anything  much  the  matter 
with  you,  you'd  be  willing  to  wait,"  said  a  pale 
woman  with  a  weary  voice. 

295 


£96  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

And  then  a  man — she  was  sure  that  man  was  a 
victim  of  cancer — said  loftily:  "A  doctor  you  never 
have  to  wait  for  isn't  the  doctor  you  want." 

"  The  only  thing  seems  queer  to  me,"  said  a  meek 
looking1  woman,  taking  advantage  of  the  outbreak, 
"  is  that  he  don't  look  at  your  tongue.  Down  in 
Indiana,  where  I  come  from,  they  always  look  at 
your  tongue.  There's  a  lot  of  questions  he  don't 
ask,"  she  ventured,  looking  around  for  either  as 
sent  or  information. 

"  He  asks  all  there's  any  need  of,"  the  first  woman 
assured  her.  "  I  guess  you  aren't  very  sick,"  turn 
ing,  witheringly,  to  Ernestine. 

And  then  they  went  back  to  their  waiting;  those 
who  had  rocking  chairs  rocking,  those  who  had  mag 
azines  reading,  or  turning  leaves  at  least,  some  just 
sitting  there  and  looking  into  space.  It  must  take 
away  all  sense  of  freedom  to  feel  that  people  like  this, 
sick  people  for  whom  everything  was  hard,  were 
always  waiting  for  one. 

She  would  tell  the  doctor  how  she  had  been  well- 
nigh  mobbed  by  loyal  patients.  They  were  like  a 
great  family ;  she  knew  well  enough  they  did  consider 
able  grumbling,  but  her  remark  put  her  without  the 
fold,  and  from  her  as  an  alien,  criticism  was  not  to  be 
brooked.  By  the  glare  with  which  the  first  woman 
still  regarded  her  she  was  sure  she  was  suspected  of 
being  an  agent  sent  there  by  some  inferior  doctor 
to  try  and  get  Dr.  Parkman's  patients  away  from 
him. 

Ernestine  was  tired,  and  she  believed  she  would  have 


THE    DOCTOR    HAS    HIS   WAY       297 

to  admit  that  she  was  nervous.  She  had  been  work 
ing  harder,  she  supposed,  than  she  should,  but 
the  further  she  went  the  more  she  saw  to  do, 
and  something  from  within  was  eternally  pushing 

her  on. 

As  she  waited,  her  mind  turned  to  the  stories  that 
office  must  hold.  How  much  of  anxiety  and  suffering 
and  sorrow  and  tragedy — and  occasional  joy — it 
must  know.  The  mothers  who  brought  children  whom 
others  had  declared  incurable — how  tense  these  mo 
ments  of  waiting  must  be  for  them!  The  husband 
and  wife  who  came  together  to  find  out  whether  she 
would  have  to  have  the  operation — how  many  of  the 
crucial  moments  of  life  were  lived  in  such  places  as 
this  !  The  power  in  these  doctors  vested  !  The  power 
of  their  voice,  their  slightest  glance,  in  holding  men 
from  the  brink  of  despair!  Who  could  know  the 
human  heart  better  than  they?  They  did  not  meet 
the  every  day  men  and  women  well  groomed  with 
restraints  and  pretence.  For  it  was  an  hour  when  the 
soul  was  stripped  bare  that  the  doctor  looked  in  upon 
it.  Men  were  various  things  to  various  people,  but  to 
the  doctor  they  came  very  close  to  being  themselves. 
Too  much  was  at  stake  to  dissemble  here.  When 
phantoms  of  fear  and  death  took  shape  in  the  shadows 
one  sought  the  doctor — and  told  the  truth. 

She  had  a  fancy  which  moved  her  then.  She  saw 
the  men  like  Dr.  Parkman  fighting  darkness  down  in 
the  valley,  while  from  the  mountain  peak  adjacent 
men  like  Karl  turned  on,  as  with  mighty  search 
lights,  more,  and  ever  more,  of  the  light.  And  what 


£98    THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

were  the  search-lights  for  if  not  to  be  turned  down 
into  the  valley? 

"What  time  did  you  go  to  bed  last  night?"  he 
demanded,  after  they  had  shaken  hands  in  the  inner 
office. 

"Why— did  you  see  the  light?"  she  faltered;— 
she  had  made  a  promise  against  late  hours. 

"  The  light — no ;  but  I  see  your  face  now,  and 
that's  enough.  Was  it  two — or  worse?  " 

"  Just  a  mere  trifle  worse.  And  truly,  doctor — I 
didn't  mean  to.  But  don't  you  know  it's  hard  to  stop 
when  you  feel  just  right  for  a  thing?  Why,  one 
can't  always  do  things  at  the  proper  time,"  she  ex 
postulated. 

"  No,  and  one  can't  always  keep  an  abused  nervous 
system  from  going  to  pieces  either.  Did  you  ever 
stop  to  think  of  that?" 

"  But  you'll  look  after  the  nervous  system,"  she 
replied  ingenuously. 

"  Now  that's  where  a  lot  of  you  make  the  mistake. 
I  can't  do  anything  at  all  without  the  co-operation 
of  common-sense." 

"  Well  I'm  intending  to  be  real  good  from  this 
on,"  she  laughed.  "  But  it  is  so  important  that  I 
know  everything ! " 

He  laughed  then  too.    "A  very  destructive  notion." 

"  Tell  me,"  he  said,  when  he  had  settled  himself 
in  his  chair  in  the  particular  way  of  settling  himself 
when  he  intended  having  a  talk  with  her,  "  have  you 
been  rewarded  in  all  this  by  any  pleasure  in  it  what 
soever?  I  don't  mean,"  he  made  clear,  anticipating 


THE    DOCTOR    PAS    HIS   WAY       299 

her,  "  just  the  pleasure  of  doing  something  for  Karl. 
But  has  your  work  given  you  any  enthusiasm  for  the 
thing  in  itself?  " 

"  Doctor — it  has.  And  that  was  something  I  was 
afraid  of.  But  you  should  have  heard  me  talking  to 
Mr.  Ross  the  other  day  when  he  made  one  of  his 
patronising  remarks  about  mere  science.  I  believe 
that  when  you  work  hard  at  almost  anything  you 
develop  some  enthusiasm  for  it." 

«  Um — a  rather  doubtful  compliment  for  science." 

"  It  was  rather  Beasonish,"  she  laughed.  "  But 
you  see  in  the  beginning  my  face  was  turned  the  other 
way." 

He  gave  her  one  of  those  concentrated  glances 
then.  "And  how  about  that?  Never  feel  any  more 
like  heading  the  other  way?" 

She  smiled,  and  the  smile  seemed  to  be  covering  a 
great  deal.  "  Oh  sometimes  the  perverse  side  of  me 
feels  like  turning  the  other  way.  There  are  many 
sides  to  us — aren't  there?  But  never  mind  about 
that,"  she  hastened.  "  That  is  just  something  be 
tween  me  and  myself.  I  can  suppress  all  insurrec 
tions." 

There  was  a  pause.  She  leaned  back  in  the  big 
chair  and  was  resting;  he  had  seen  from  the  first 
that  she  was  very  tired.  "  No  desire  to  back  out?  " 
—he  threw  that  out  a  little  doubtfully. 

She  sat  up  straight.  She  looked,  first  angry,  and 
then  as  if  she  were  going  to  cry.  "  Doctor — tell  me ! 
Am  I  that  unconvincing?  Hasn't  the  winter— 

"  This     winter,"    he     interrupted     gently,     "  has 


300  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

proved  that  you  knew  what  you  were  talking  about 
when  you  came  to  me  last  fall.  Could  I  say  more 
than  that?  I  only  asked  the  question,"  he  explained, 
"  because  this  is  the  last  chance  for  retreat." 

And  then  he  told  her,  watching  the  changing  ex 
pressions  of  her  responsive  face.  But  at  the  last 
there  was  a  timidity,  a  sort  of  frightened  fluttering. 

"But  doctor — am  I  ready?  Can  I  really  do  it? 
There  is  so  much  I  don't  know ! " 

"  The  consciousness  of  which  is  excellent  proof  of 
your  progress.  My  idea  is  this.  In  any  case  it  is 
going  to  be  hard  at  the  first.  You  might  go  on 
another  year,  and  of  course  be  in  better  shape,  but 
I  don't  know  just  what  Karl  would  be  doing  in  that 
year ;  he's  in  need  of  a  big  rousing  up,  and  as  for  you, 
after  working  the  year  with  him,  you'll  be  a  long 
way  ahead  of  where  you  would  be  alone.  So  it  argues 
itself  that  way  from  both  standpoints.  I  made  up 
my  mind  when  I  was  out  the  other  day  that  Karl 
needs  just  what  this  is  going  to  give." 

"You  think  he  looks  badly?"  she  flew  at  that, 
relinquishing  all  else.  "You  think  Karl's  not 
well?" 

"  I  didn't  mean  that.  But  he  needs  the  hope,  the 
enthusiasm,  activity,  this  is  going  to  give." 

"  Hasn't  he  been  splendid  this  winter?  "  she  asked 
softly,  those  very  deep  warm  lights  in  her  eyes.  "  Did 
you  ever  see  anything  like  it,  doctor?  " 

"  I  thought  I  knew  something  about  courage," 
he  replied  shortly,  "  but  Karl  makes  me  think  I 
didn't." 


THE    DOCTOR    HAS    HIS    WAY       301 

"  I  don't  believe  there  are  many  men  could  turn 
from  big  things  to  smaller  ones,  and  grow  bigger 
instead  of  smaller,"  she  said,  with  a  very  tender 
pride. 

"  They  say  scientists  are  narrow  and  bull-headed. 
Wonder  what  they  would  say  to  this?  And  there's 
another  thing  to  remember.  We  have  seen  the  re 
sults  of  the  victories.  Only  Karl  Hubers  knows  of 
the  fights." 

"  I  know  of  some  of  them,"  said  Ernestine,  simply. 

"  Yes,"  he  corrected  himself — "  you.  And  before 
we  quite  deify  Karl  we  must  reckon  with  you.  He 
could  not  have  done  it  without  you." 

"  He  would  not  have  tried,"  she  said — and  the  man 
turned  away.  That  look  was  not  his  to  see. 

When  she  recalled  herself  it  was  with  a  sense  of 
not  having  been  kind.  Why  did  she  say  things  like 
that  to  Dr.  Parkman  after  Karl  had  told  her — ? 
"And  you,  doctor,"  she  said  in  rather  timid  repara 
tion,  "  I  wonder  if  you  know  what  you  have  done  for 
us  both?" 

"  Oh,  I  haven't  counted  for  much,"  he  said  almost 
curtly.  "  It  would  have  worked  itself  out  without 
me."  But  even  as  he  spoke  he  was  wishing  with  all 
his  heart  that  there  was  some  way  of  showing  her 
what  they  had  meant  to  him.  He  did  not  do  it, 
for  a  soul  which  has  been  long  apart  grows  fear 
ful  of  sending  itself  out,  fearful  of  making  itself 
absurd. 

They  talked  it  all  out  then,  going  at  practical 
things  in  a  very  matter-of-fact  way.  "And  now," 


S02  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

said  the  doctor,  "  I  have  a  suggestion.  It  is  more 
than  a  suggestion.  It  is  a  request.  A  little  more 
than  a  request,  even;  a " 

"  Command  ?  "  she  smiled  at  him. 

"  You  know,"  he  began,  "  how  it  is  with  the  ath 
letes.  Sometimes  they  become  overtrained,  which  is 
the  worst  thing  could  happen  to  them.  A  good 
trainer  never  puts  overtrained  men  in  the  game. 
Now,  my  dear  enthusiastic  friend," — she  was  looking 
at  him  in  that  intent  way  of  hers — "  I've  noticed  two 
or  three  times  that  you've  about  jumped  out  of  your 
chair  at  some  meaningless  noise  in  the  other  room. 
Your  eyes  tell  the  story ; — oh  there  are  various  ways 
of  reading  it.  You're  a  little  overtrained.  Before 
you  tell  Karl  the  great  secret  I  want  you  to  go  away 
by  yourself  for  a  couple  of  weeks  and  rest." 

"  You  mean  that  I  should  leave  Karl?  "  she  de 
manded. 

"  I  do.  I  want  you  to  have  change,  rest,  and  for 
that  matter  a  little  lonesomeness  won't  be  a  bad  thing. 
You'll  be  in  just  the  right  mood  then  to  put  it  all 
to  him  when  you  come  back.  He'll  be  in  just  the  right 
mood  to  take  it." 

"  Oh,  but,  doctor — you  don't  understand !  I  can't 
leave  Karl.  There  are  things  I  do  for  him  no  one 
else  could  do.  Why  you  must  remember  he's  blind! " 
she  concluded,  passionately. 

She  was  not  easy  to  win,  but  he  stated  his  case, 
and  one  by  one  met  her  arguments.  Yes — Karl  would 
be  lonely.  But  when  she  came  back  he  would  be  so 
glad  to  see  her  that  he  would  be  a  much  better  subject 


THE    DOCTOR    HAS    HIS    WAY       303 

for  enthusiasm  than  he  was  now.  She  also  would  be 
in  better  mood.  "If  you  tell  him  now,"  he  said, 
"  and  he  makes  some  objections,  says  it  can't  be  done 
— ten  to  one,  as  you  are  now,  you  will  begin  to  cry. 
A  nice  termination  for  your  whole  winter's  work1. 
You  must  go  to  him  just  as  you  came  to  me  in  the 
beginning — overwhelm  him,  take  him  whether  or 
no.  And  you're  not  right  for  that  now.  It's  just 
because  I'm  bound  this  thing  shall  go  through,  that 
I  insist  you  do  as  I  say." 

"Couldn't  Karl  go  with  me?"  she  asked,  quite 
humbly,  her  eyes  pleading  eloquently. 

He  showed  her,  kindly,  but  very  decisively,  that 
that  would  not  make  the  point  at  all.  There  followed 
then  but  a  few  final  protestations.  Where  would 
Karl  think  she  was?  What  in  the  world  would  he 
think  of  her — going  away  and  leaving  him  like  that? 
Who  would  look  after  him?  What  if  he  needed  some 
help  he  didn't  get  ?  Suppose  he  grew  so  lonesome  and 
depressed  he  just  couldn't  stand  it? 

On  all  of  which  points  he  somewhat  banteringly 
reassured  her.  Other  men  had  been  lonesome  now 
and  then,  and  it  had  not  quite  killed  them.  Beason 
and  Ross  were  in  the  house,  and  there  was  a  good 
maid,  who  adored  Dr.  Hubers.  "As  to  where  he 
thinks  you  are,  I'll  tell  him  half  the  truth.  That 
you  are  a  little  nervous  and  I  have  prescribed  change 
and  rest." 

But  she  would  not  agree  to  that.  "  Karl  would 
worry,"  she  said.  "We'll  tell  him  instead  that  I 
have  to  go  to  New  York  to  see  about  my  picture.  It 


THE   GLORY  OF   THE    CONQUERED 

will  be  easier  for  Karl  if  he  thinks  it  is  about  my 
work." 

He  yielded  to  her  judgment  in  that,  and  agreed 
to  the  further  compromise  that  if  she  found  she  could 
not  possibly  stay  away  two  weeks  she  might  come 
back  in  one. 

It  was  the  change,  the  going  away,  the  getting 
lonesome  the  doctor  wanted  most  of  all.  He  wanted 
to  lift  her  clear  up  to  her  highest  self  that  she  might 
have  all  that  was  hers  to  give  when  she  told  her 
story  to  Karl. 

"  And  of  course,  doctor,"  she  asked  anxiously, 
"  when  the  time  -comes  you  will  talk  to  him  too — tell 
him  you  feel  I  can  do  it?  " 

"  Trust  me  for  that,"  he  said  briefly. 

"  But  where  is  it  I  am  to  go  ?  "  she  laughed,  as  she 
was  ready  to  leave. 

He  told  her  then  of  a  place  in  Michigan.  An  old 
nurse  of  his  had  married  and  was  living  there,  and  he 
frequently  sent  patients  to  her  as  boarders.  "  I  have 
written  to  her  and  she  wants  you  to  come,"  he  said. 

"  Well — upon  my  word !  Before  I  so  much  as 
said  I  would  go  ?  " 

"  Why  certainly,"  he  answered,  looking  a  trifle 
surprised.  "  For  three  days,  perhaps  five,  I  want 
you  to  sleep.  You'll  find  you're  very  tired — once  you 
let  go.  Then  you  can  walk  in  the  woods — I  think 
it's  going  to  be  warm  enough  for  browsing  around. 
And  you  can  think  of  Karl,"  he  said  with  a  touch  of 
humour,  and  a  touch  of  something  else,  "  and  of  all 
this  is  going  to  mean.  I've  thought  a  great  many 


THE   DOCTOR    HAS   HIS   WAY        305 

times  of  what  you  said  about  the  statue.  There's 
something  mighty  stirring  in  that  idea  of  unconquer- 
ableness." 

"  There  is !  "  she  responded. 

"  A  great  thing,  you  know,  is  worth  making  a  few 
sacrifices  for.  You've  made  some  pretty  big  ones 
for  this,  now  make  this  one  more.  Haven't  you  been 
laying  claim  to  great  faith  in  my  judgment?  " 

"  Oh  yes — as  a  matter  of  judgment ;  only " 

"  Very  well  then,  be  lonesome — if  you  must  be  lone 
some.  I  hope  you  will  be — it's  part  of  the  treatment. 
And  then  you'll  come  back  and  in  your  first  bursts  of 
delight  tell  Karl  just  what  you've  done.  When  he 
says  it's  impossible,  you'll  just  laugh.  You'll  get 
him  to  try  and  then  the  day  is  yours." 

Out  on  the  street  she  stopped  half  a  dozen  times 
in  the  first  block,  thinking  she  would  go  back  and 
tell  Dr.  Parkman  she  couldn't  possibly  leave  Karl. 
"  Why,  he's  a  terrible  man,"  she  mused,  half  humor 
ously,  half  tearfully,  "  sending  wives  away  from 
husbands  like  this — wanting  people  to  be  lonesome, 
just  because  he  thinks  it's  good  for  them!  I'll  not 
do  it — I'll  go  back  and  tell  him  I  won't!"  But  she 
did  not  go  back.  She  felt  Dr.  Parkman  might  look 
unpleasant  if  a  patient  came  back  to  say :  "  I  won't." 
— "  No  one  would  ever  get  up  courage  enough  for 
that,"  she  concluded  mournfully,  "  so  I'll  just  have 
to  go." 


CHAPTER    XXXIII 
LOVE'S   OWN   HOUR 

IT  was  Sunday,  and    Ernestine  was  going  away 
next  morning.     She  had  told  Karl  the  day  be 
fore  ;  it  alarmed  him  at  first,  for  he  telephoned 
Dr.  Parkman,  asking  him  to  come  out.     When 
the  doctor  arrived  he  demanded  the  truth  as  to  Er 
nestine.      Had   anything   happened?     Was   she  not 
well?     He  was  so  relieved  at  the  doctor's  assurance 
that  Ernestine  was   perfectly  well,  and  was   going 
away  because  of  her  work,  that  he  accepted  the  sit 
uation  more  easily  than  she  had  anticipated.     "  Per 
haps  it  will  do  me  good,  liebchen,"  he  told  her.     "  I 
fear  I'm  getting  to  be  a  selfish  brute — taking  every 
thing  for  granted  and  not  appreciating  you  half 
enough." 

But  that  afternoon  it  was  Ernestine  herself  who 
was  forced  to  fight  hard  for  cheerfulness.  She  did 
not  want  to  go  away.  She  was  curiously  depressed 
about  it,  and  resentful.  More  than  once  she  was  on 
the  point  of  telephoning  to  Dr.  Parkman  that  she 
could  not  leave  Karl. 

Georgia  and  Joe  and  Mrs.  McCormick  came  in 
about  five  and  Georgia's  spirit  seemed  to  blow 
through  the  house  like  a  strong,  full  current  of  brac 
ing  air.  She  and  Joe  had  returned  from  California 
the  night  before,  and  there  were  many  things  to  tell 

306 


LOVE'S  OWN  HOUR  307 

about  their  trip.  Mrs.  McCormick  said  it  was  in 
deed  curious  how  some  people  always  had  so  many 
more  adventures  than  other  people  had.  She  won 
dered  why  it  was  she  never  met  any  of  these  amusing 
persons  Georgia  was  always  telling  about. 

Their  visit  did  Ernestine  much  good.  It  was  im 
possible  to  feel  blue  or  have  silly  forebodings  in  the 
presence  of  so  much  naturalness  and  cheer  as  always 
emanated  from  Georgia.  Those  hearty  laughs  had 
cleared  the  atmosphere  for  her. 

"  Look  here,  liebchen,"  said  Karl,  emerging  from 
a  brown  study,  "  we  must  fix  up  a  code." 
"A  code,  dear?" 

"  For  your  writing  to  me.  You  see  Ross  will  have 
to  read  the  letters,  and  how  can  you  say  in  every 
other  line  you  love  me,  with  that  duffer  reading  it  out 
loud?" 

"  Oh,  Karl — how  stupid  of  me  not  to  learn  writ 
ing  the  other  way !  You  see  it  never  occurred  to  me 
I  would  be  away  from  you.  Couldn't  I  take  that 
manual,  and  make  it  out  from  that?  " 

«  Well — yOU  might,  but  we'll  do  both;  it  will  be 
fun  to  have  a  code.  Now,  when  you  say — '  I  am  a 
trifle  tired,'  you  mean — '  Oh,  sweetheart,  I  am  so 
lonesome  for  you  that  I  am  never  going  away 
again!'" 

"  But  won't  Mr.  Ross  think  it  strange  if  I  say  in 
each  letter  that  I  am  a  trifle  tired?  " 

"What  do  we  care  what  he  thinks?  They're  not 
his  letters,  are  they?  And  when  you  say — 'New 
York  seems  most  attractive,' — you  mean — '  Oh,  dear- 


308  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

est,  I  never  dreamed  I  loved  you  so  much !  I  am 
finding  out  in  a  thousand  new  ways  how  much  I  care, 
and  never,  never,  shall  we  be  separated  again.' ' 

"  And  when  I  say,  '  I  send  you  my  love  ' — it  will 
be  perfectly  proper  for  Mr.  Ross  to  read  that,  I 
mean — 'Dear  love — I  send  you  a  thousand  kisses, 
and  I  would  give  the  world  for  one  minute  now  in 
your  arms.' ' 

And  so  they  arranged  it, — revising,  enlarging,  go 
ing  over  it  a  great  many  times  to  have  it  all  certain — 
there  was  such  a  tender  kind  of  fun  in  it.  As  to  the 
other  side  of  it,  Karl  of  course  could  write  to  her 
on  his  typewriter. 

It  was  a  beautiful  evening  they  had  sitting  there 
before  the  fire.  She  saw  pictures  for  him,  and  he 
even  saw  some  pictures  for  her, — he  said  a  blind  man 
could  see  certain  pictures  no  one  else  could  possibly 
see.  They  spoke  of  how  they  had  never  been  sepa 
rated  since  their  marriage,  of  how  strange  it  would 
seem  to  be  apart,  but  always  of  how  beautiful  to 
be  together  again.  There  was  such  a  sweetness,  ten 
derness,  in  the  sadness  which  hung  about  their  part 
ing.  They  made  the  most  of  their  pain,  as  is  the  way 
of  lovers,  for  it  drew  them  together  in  a  new  way, 
and  each  kiss,  each  smallest  caress,  had  a  new  and 
tender  significance. 

"  You'll  be  back  in  time  for  your  birthday,  Ernes 
tine?" 

"Oh,  yes;  I'm  only  going  to  stay  a  week." 

"  I  thought  you  said,  perhaps  two?  " 

"Did  I?     Well  I've  decided  one  will  be  enough." 


LOVE'S  OWN  HOUR  309 

"  Ernestine,  what  have  you  been  painting?  Tell 
me,  dear.  That's  one  thing  I'm  a  little  disappointed 
in.  I  do  so  want  to  keep  close  to  your  work." 

"  Well,  Karl,"  after  a  silence,  "  that  picture  I  have 
been  working  on  this  winter  is  hard  to  tell  about 
because  it  is  in  a  field  all  new  to  me.  It  is  a  picture 
which  emphasises,  or  tries  to,  what  love  means  to 
the  world, — a  picture  which  is  the  outgrowth  of  our 
love.  I  am  not  sure  that  it  is  good  in  all  its  technical 
features,  but  I  believe  there  is  atmosphere  in  it, 
poetic  feeling,  and,  back  of  that,  thought,  and  soul, 
and  truth.  I  think  there  is  harmony  and  richness  of 
colour.  Some  people  will  say  it  is  very  daring,  and 
no  one  will  call  it  conventional,  but  I  am  hoping," — 
Ernestine's  voice  was  so  low  and  full  of  feeling  he 
could  scarcely  get  the  words — "  that  it  is  going  to 
be  a  very  great  picture — the  greatest  I  have  ever 
done.  Some  of  it  has  been  hard  for  me,  dear.  In 
truth  I  have  been  much  discouraged  at  times.  But 
great  things  are  not  lightly  achieved,  Karl,  and  if 
this  is  anything  at  all,  it  is  one  of  the  great  things. 
As  to  the  subject,  detail,  I  am  going  to  ask  you  to 
wait  until  I  come  back.  I  have  been  keeping  it  for 
you  as  a  little  surprise.  Perhaps  it  will  help  some  of 
your  lonely  hours,  dear  " — her  voice  quivered — "  to 
think  about  the  beautiful  surprise.  And  if  it  seems 
strange  sometimes  that  I  could  bring  myself  to  go 
away  from  you,  will  you  not  bear  in  mind,  Karl  dear, 
that  I  am  doing  it  simply  that  the  great  surprise 
may  be  made  perfect  for  you?  It  is  a  whim  of  mine 
to  keep  this  a  great  secret;  in  the  end  I  know  you 


310     THE    GLORY    OF   THE    CONQUERED 

will  forgive  the  secrecy.  And  when  I  -come  back  " — 
her  voice  was  stronger,  fuller  now — "  I  am  going  to 
make  you  see  it  just  as  plainly  as  you  ever  saw  any 
thing  in  all  your  life !  " 

"  You  must !  I  couldn't  bear  it  to  be  shut  out 
from  your  work." 

"  You  are  not  going  to  be  shut  out  from  my 
work !  " — she  said  it  with  an  intensity  almost  stern. 

"  I  want  your  life  to  be  happy,  Ernestine,"  he  said, 
after  a  time,  and  the  words  seemed  to  have  a  new 
meaning  spoken  out  of  this  mood  of  very  deep  tender 
ness.  "  I  don't  want  it  to  be  darkened.  I  want  my 
love  to  make  you  happy — in  spite  of  it  all." 

"  It  does,"  she  breathed,—"  it  does." 

"  But  I  want  you  to  be — as  you  used  to  be !  I 
haven't  been  fair  in  letting  this  make  such  a  differ 
ence  with  us." 

"  Karl — how  can  you  talk  like  that,  when  you  have 
been  so — splendid?" 

"But  you  see  I  don't  want  to  be  splendid,"  he 
said  whimsically.  "  I'd  rather  be  a  brute  than  be 
splendid.  And  I  want  you  to  love  me  always  as  you 
did  at  first — just  because  you  couldn't  help  your 
self." 

"  I  can  not  help  myself  now,"  she  laughed.  "  I 
am  just  as  helpless  as  I  ever  was." 

And  then  a  long  and  very  precious  silence. 
She  was  filled  with  many  things  too  deep  for  utter 
ance,  even  had  she  been  free  to  speak.  She  thought 
of  her  birthday  night  a  year  before,  their  happiness 
then,  all  that  had  come  to  them  since,  all  that  love  had 


LOVE'S  OWN  HOUR  311 

meant,  the  great  things  it  was  to  do  for  them.  She 
looked  at  Karl's  face — his  fine,  strong  face  which 
seemed  the  very  soul  of  the  mellow  fire-light.  How 
would  that  dear  face  look  when  she  told  him  what  she 
had  done?  Convinced  him  that  great  things  were 
before  him  now?  Would  it  not  be  that  his  determi 
nation  not  to  fail  her  would  stir  fires  which,  even  in 
his  most  triumphant  days,  had  slumbered? 

But  from  exultation  in  all  that,  she  passed  to  the 
heart's  pain  in  leaving  him.  She  moved  a  little  closer, 
took  his  hand  and  rested  it  lovingly  against  her 
cheek.  She  had  never  been  away  from  Karl.  Tears 
came  at  the  thought  of  it  now. 

And  he  must  have  been  thinking  of  what  Ernestine 
had  meant  to  him  in  the  last  year,  for  of  a  sudden 
he  stooped  down  and  with  his  old  abandonment,  with 
all  the  fullness  of  the  first  passion  and  the  tender 
understanding  of  these  later  days,  gathered  her  into 
his  arms.  "  Oh,  Ernestine,"  he  whispered— breath 
ing  into  her  name  all  that  was  in  his  heart — "  Ernes 
tine!  " 


CHAPTER    XXXIV 

ALMOST   DAWN 

SHE  found  that  in  the  beginning  at  least  it 
was  as  Dr.  Parkman  had  said.     It  was  good 
to  sleep.     It  was  good  to  go  to  bed  at  night 
with  the  sense  of  nothing  to  do  in  the  morning, 
good  to  wake   at  the  usual  time   only  to   feel  she 
might  go  back  to  that  comfortable,  beautiful  sleep. 
For  Ernestine  was  indeed  very  tired.    Since  that  day 
when  the  great  idea  had  come  to  her  there  had  been 
no  time  when  she  was  free  from  the  sense  of  all  that 
lay  before  her.    But  now  she  could  rest. 

Strangely  enough  she  did  not  worry  greatly  about 
Karl.  Her  first  waking  thoughts  were  of  him,  but 
fuller  consciousness  always  brought  the  feeling  that 
it  was  all  right  with  Karl ;  he  was  missing  her,  of 
course,  but  she  was  going  back  to  him  very  soon  and 
bring  him  the  things  he  had  believed  shut  away  for 
ever; — bring  him  the  light! — that  was  the  way  she 
had  come  to  think  of  it.  The  deliciousness  of  her 
rest  was  in  the  sense  of  its  being  right  she  should 
take  it;  she  could  best  serve  Karl  by  resting  until 
she  was  her  strongest  self. 

Her  room  was  so  quiet  and  restful,  the  bed  so 
comfortable,  and  Mrs.  Rolfe,  Dr.  Packman's  old 
nurse,  so  good  to  her.  It  was  soothing  to  be  told  to 
close  her  pretty  eyes  and  go  to  sleep,  sustaining  to  be 

312 


ALMOST    DAWN  313 

met  with — "  Now  here  is  something  for  our  little  lady 
to  eat."  After  many  days  of  responsibility  it  was 
good  to  be  "  mothered  "  a  little. 

But  after  the  first  revel  in  sleep  had  passed  she 
did  a  great  deal  of  languid,  undisturbing  thinking. 
She  seemed  detached  from  her  life,  and  it  passed  be 
fore  her,  not  poignantly,  but  merely  as  something  to 
look  upon,  quietly  muse  about.  Soon  she  would  step 
back  into  it,  but  now  she  was  resting  from  it,  simply 
viewing  it  as  an  interesting  thing  which  kept  passing 
before  her. 

From  the  very  first  it  came  before  her,  from  those 
days  when  she  was  a  little  girl  at  home,  and  she 
found  much  quiet  entertainment  in  trying  to  connect 
herself  of  those  days  with  herself  of  the  now.  "  Am 
I  all  one  ?  "  she  would  want  to  know,  and  in  thinking 
that  over  would  quite  likely  fall  asleep  again. 

She  thought  a  great  deal  about  her  father  and 
mother;  they  were  more  real  to  her  than  they  had 
been  for  a  long  time ;  but  it  was  hard  to  connect  the 
Ernestine  of  that  home  with  the  Ernestine  who  be 
longed  to  Karl.  There  was  Georgia,  to  be  sure, 
who  extended  clear  through.  Dear  Georgia — how 
well  she  had  looked  Sunday  in  that  beautiful  black 
gown.  She  remembered  such  a  funny  thing,  and  such 
a  dear  thing,  Georgia  had  done  once.  They  had 
become  chums  as  freshmen  and  when  they  were  sopho 
mores  Georgia  came  to  their  house  to  live,  and  one 
night  she  inadvertently  said  something  which  started 
one  of  those  terrible  arguments,  and  ended  in  the 
saying  of  so  many  bitter  things  that  Ernestine 


THE    GLORY    OF,    THE    CONQUERED 

could  not  bear  it — especially  before  Georgia,  and  as 
soon  as  she  could  she  left  the  table  and  went  up  to 
her  room.  She  did  not  cry,  her  mother  cried  so  much 
that  it  seemed  enough  for  the  family,  but  she  sat 
there  very  still  looking  straight  ahead — denying  her 
self  even  the  luxury  of  tears.  And  then,  just  when 
that  atmosphere  of  unhappiness  and  bitterness  seemed 
pressing  down  upon  her — crushing  her — there  had 
come  a  wild  shriek  from  Georgia — "  Ernestine — Er 
nestine — get  your  things  quick — let's  go  to  the  fire !  " 

That  was  not  to  be  resisted  even  by  a  nineteen-year- 
old  girl.  She  remembered  tumbling  into  her  things, 
running  two  blocks,  and  then  gasping — "  Where  is 
it  ?  "  and  Georgia  replied,  gasping  too — "  Don't  know 
— small  boys — said  so."  And  then  after  running  all 
over  town  they  found  there  was  no  fire  at  all,  and 
that  had  so  overcome  them  with  laughter  that  she 
forgot  all  about  those  other  things  which  would  have 
given  her  so  miserable  an  evening.  She  had  had  just 
a  little  suspicion  then,  and  now  she  had  a  firm  con 
viction,  that  Georgia  never  heard  small  boys  say 
anything  about  fire  that  night.  Bless  Georgia's  big 
heart — she  loved  her  for  just  such  things  as  invent 
ing  fires  for  unhappy  people  to  go  to. 

As  she  lay  there  resting,  away  from  the  current  of 
her  life,  she  thought  a  great  deal  about  a  little 
grave  over  in  France,  such  a  very,  very  small  grave 
which  represented  a  life  which  had  really  never  come 
into  the  world  at  all.  She  could  fancy  her  baby  here 
with  her  now — patting  her  face,  pulling  her  hair — so 
warm  and  dear  and  sweet.  Her  arms  ached  for  that 


ALMOST    DAWN  315 

little  child  which  had  been  hers  only  in  anticipation. 
And  what  it  would  have  meant  to  Karl ! — the  laughter 
of  a  very  small  voice,  the  cuddling  of  a  very  small 
head.  .  .  .  Deep  thoughts  came  then,  and  deeper 
yearnings,  and  when  Mrs.  Rolfe  came  in  at  one  of 
those  times  she  was  startled  at  the  look  in  the  deep 
brown  eyes  of  her  patient,  a  look  which  seemed  to  be 
asking  for  something  which  no  one  could  give,  and 
when  Ernestine  smiled  at  her,  as  she  always  did,  the 
woman  could  scarcely  keep  back  the  answering — • 
"  Never  mind,  dearie — never  you  mind." 

And  through  all  of  her  thoughts  there  was  Karl — 
his  greatness,  his  work,  his  love.  She  would  be  so 
happy  when  she  did  not  have  to  keep  things  back 
from  Karl.  It  seemed  it  would  be  the  happiest  mo 
ment  of  her  life  when  she  could  throw  her  soul  wide 
open  to  him  with — "  There  is  never  going  to  be 
another  thing  kept  back  from  you !  "  She  could  not 
bear  the  thought  of  Karl's  believing  she  was  in  New 
York.  But  soon  there  would  be  no  more  of  that,  and 
Karl  himself  would  tell  her  she  had  done  it  because 
she  cared  so  much. 

And  most  beautiful  of  all  things  to  think  about 
was  the  hour  when  she  would  tell  him !  How  would  he 
look?  What  would  he  say? 

On  the  fifth  morning  she  awakened  feeling  quite 
different.  Those  birds ! — What  were  they  singing 
about?  She  got  up  and  raised  the  curtain,  and  then 
drew  in  a  long  breath  of  delight.  For  it  was  a  radi 
ant  spring  morning,  breathing  gladness  and  joy  and 
all  beautiful  things.  Oh  how  beautiful  off  there  in 


316     THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

the  trees! — the  trees  which  were  just  coming  back  to 
life  after  their  long  sleep.  She  too  had  been  asleep 
— but  it  was  time  now  to  wake  up  and  be  glad! 

She  felt  very  much  awake  and  alive  this  morning. 
— Oh,  how  those  birds  were  singing !  She  laughed  in 
sheer  happiness,  and  began  to  sing  too.  She  would 
dress  and  go  out  of  doors.  To  remain  in  her  room 
one  hour  longer  would  be  unbearable  bondage.  For 
all  the  world  was  awake  and  glad !  She  could  scarcely 
wait  to  get  out  there  among  the  birds  and  trees. 

She  had  never  felt  so  alive,  so  well  tuned  to  life, 
so  passionately  eager  for  its  every  manifestation 
as  when,  after  a  hurried  breakfast,  she  started  up 
the  beautiful  green  hill  to  the  trees  where  all  the 
birds  were  singing — the  soft  breath  of  the  spring 
enfolding  her,  her  spirit  lifting  itself  up  to  meet  the 
caress  of  the  spirit  of  spring.  She  walked  with  long, 
swinging  step,  smiling  to  herself,  humming  a  glad 
little  air,  now  and  then  tossing  her  head  just  to  get 
the  breath  of  spring  upon  her  face  in  some  new 
way.  Mrs.  Rolfe  watched  her  from  the  kitchen 
door,  smiling. 

On  the  hill-top  she  stopped,  standing  straight, 
breathing  deep,  revelling  in  the  song  of  the  birds — 
they  were  fairly  intoxicated  with  joy  at  this  morning 
— listening  to  the  soft  murmur  of  the  spring  beneath 
it  all — happy — oh  so  happy,  as  she  looked  off  to  the 
far  distances.  The  long  winter  had  gone,  and  now 
the  spring  had  come  again — the  dear  spring  she  had 
always  loved ! 

It  was  with  her  too  almost  an  intoxication — the 


ALMOST    DAWN  317 

throwing  off  of  gloom,  the  taking  on  of  joy.  On  such 
a  morning  nature  calls  unto  her  chosen,  and  they 
hear  her  call,  and  are  glad.  As  she  stood  there  on  her 
hill-top  her  spirit  lifted  itself  up  in  lyric  utterance ; 
her  whole  being  responded  to  the  songs  of  the  re 
turning  birds. 

How  well  Dr.  Parkman  had  planned  it !  She  would 
go  back  now  and  tell  Karl  what  a  great  thing  it 
was  to  be  alive,  how  the  spirit  was  everything,  and 
could  conquer  all  else.  It  seemed  very  easy  now.  It 
was  all  a  matter  of  getting  the  spirit  right; — how 
good  of  Dr.  Parkman  to  think  it  out  like  this. 

But  there  was  something  a  little  wrong.  She 
stopped  for  a  minute,  pondering.  Now  she  knew! 
Karl! — W]1V  could  he  not  be  here  too?  All  in  an 
instant  she  saw  it  so  clearly  that  she  laughed  aloud. 
She  was  rested  now — ready  to  tell  him — and  this 
the  place !  She  would  send  for  him !  Mr.  Ross — or 
perhaps  the  doctor  himself — would  come  with  him, 
and  here  where  it  was  all  so  beautiful,  where  the 
call  of  the  spring  reached  them  and  made  them  glad 
— she  would  tell  him !  And  then,  his  spirit  strong  as 
hers  was  now  strong,  he  would  respond  to  it,  be  made 
ready  for  the  fight. 

How  simple  and  how  splendid!  How  stupid  not  to 
have  thought  of  this  before!  And  then  again  she 
laughed.  It  would  be  fun  to  improve  on  Dr.  Park- 
man's  idea.  That  was  all  very  well — but  this  a  thou 
sand  times  better.  Karl's  spirit  too  needed  lifting 
Up; — what  could  do  it  as  this?  It  was  true  he  could 
not  see  it  with  his  eyes — but  there  were  so  many  other 


318    THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

ways  of  being  part  of  it:  the  singing  of  the  birds, 
the  scent  of  the  budding  trees,  the  rich  breath  of 
spring  upon  one's  face.  And  even  the  vision  should 
not  be  lost  to  him.  She  would  make  him  see  it ! 
She  would  make  him  see  the  sunlight  upon  the  trees, 
the  roll  of  that  farther  hillside — one  did  not  need 
to  try  to  forget  the  park  commissioners  here ! — and 
then  she  would  say  to  him :  "  See,  Karl — even  as  I 
can  make  you  see  the  trees  and  that  little  brook 
there  in  the  hollow,  just  as  plainly  as  I  can  make  you 
see  the  sky  and  the  hill  come  together  off  there — 
so  plainly  will  I  make  you  see  the  things  in  the  labora 
tory  which  belong  with  your  work."  She  would  prove 
to  him  by  the  picture  she  drew  of  these  green  fields 
in  spring-time  that  she  could  make  plain  to  him  all 
he  must  see.  How  glorious  to  prove  it  to  him  by 
the  spring-time! 

And  then,  both  of  them  uplifted,  gladdened,  both 
of  them  believing  it  could  be  done,  loving  each  other 
more  than  they  had  ever  done  before,  newly  assured 
of  the  power  of  love,  they  would  go  back  and  with 
firm  faith  and  deep  joy  begin  the  work  which  lay 
before  them. 

She  turned  to  walk  back  to  the  house.  She  would 
send  a  telegram  to  Dr.  Parkman  that  Karl  must 
come.  Perhaps  he  could  be  here  to-night ; — to-mor 
row,  surely.  Dear  Karl — who  needed  a  vacation 
more  than  he?  Who  needed  the  rejuvenation  of  the 
spring  as  Karl  needed  it? 

She  had  walked  but  a  little  way  when  she  stopped. 
Some  one  was  coming  toward  her,  walking  fast. 


ALMOST    DAWN  319 

Had  the  sun  grown  a  little  dim — or  was  something 
passing  before  her  eyes?  The  world  seemed  to 
darken.  She  looked  again  at  Mrs.  Rolfe,  coming  to 
ward  her.  How  strange  that  she  shivered !  Was  it  a 
little  chilly  up  here  on  the  hill-top  where  a  minute 
before  it  had  been  so  soft  and  warm?  She  wanted  to 
go  to  meet  Mrs.  Rolfe,  but  she  did  not;  she  stood 
strangely  still,  waiting.  And  why  was  it  that  the 
figure  of  Mrs.  Rolfe  was  such  a  blur  on  the  beauty 
of  the  hillside? 

But  when  at  last  she  saw  her  face  she  did  run  to 
meet  her.  "  What  is  the  matter?  "—her  voice  was 
quick  and  sharp. 

The  woman  hesitated. 

"  Tell  me !  "  demanded  Ernestine.  "  I  will  not  be 
treated  like  that !  " 

"Dr.  Parkman  wants  you  to  come  home,"  the 
woman  said,  not  looking  Ernestine  in  the  face. 

"Why? — Karl?" — she  caught  roughly  at  the 
other  woman's  arm. 

She  knew  then  that  she  could  not  temporise  nor 
modify.  "  Dr.  Hubers  was  taken  sick  yesterday.  He 
was  to  have  an  operation.  The  telegram  should  have 
been  delivered  last  night." 

She  thought  Ernestine  was  going  to  fall — she 
swayed  so,  her  face  went  so  colourless,  her  hands  so 
cold.  But  she  did  not  fall.  "  That— is  all  you 
know?" — it  came  in  hoarse,  broken  whisper. 

And  when  the  woman  answered,  yes,  Ernestine 
started,  running,  for  the  house. 


CHAPTER    XXXV 
"OH,   HURRY— HURRY!" 

THAT  train!— She  would  go  mad  if  it  kept 
stopping  like  that.  She  kept  leaning  for 
ward  in  her  seat,  every  muscle  tense,  fairly 
pushing  the  train  on  with  every  nerve  that 
was  in  her.  Never  once  did  she  relax — on — on — it 
must  go  on !  She  would  make  it  go  faster !  When 
it  stopped  she  clenched  her  hands,  her  nails  digging 
into  the  flesh — and  then  when  it  started  again  that 
same  feeling  that  she,  from  within  herself,  must  push 
it  on.  At  times  she  looked  from  the  window.  Now 
this  field  was  past — they  were  so  much  nearer.  Soon 
they  would  be  over  there  where  the  track  curved— 
that  was  a  long  way  ahead.  They  were  going  faster 
now.  She  would  lean  forward  again — pushing  on, 
trying  through  the  straining  of  her  own  nerves  to 
make  the  train  go  faster. 

Mrs.  Rolfe  had  wanted  to  come  with  her,  but  she 
said  no.  It  seemed  she  could  get  there  faster  by 
herself.  There  had  been  an  hour's  wait  for  the  train ; 
it  made  her  sick,  even  now,  to  think  back  to  that  hour. 
At  least  this  was  doing  something,  getting  some 
where.  She  had  telegraphed  to  every  one  she  could 
think  of,  but  no  reply  had  come  up  to  the  time  the 
train  started.  She  reasoned  that  out  with  herself, 


«  OH,  HURRY— HURRY!  "  321 

now  for  good,  now  for  bad.  And  then — if  he  were 
better,  if  there  were  anything  good  to  tell— 

Her  temples  were  thumping  more  loudly  than  the 
train  thumped.  Her  heart  was  choking  her.  Her 
throat  was  so  tight  she  could  not  breathe.  Again 
and  again  she  went  over  it  to  herself.  Dr.  Parkman 
had  operated  on  Karl.  Of  course  Dr.  Parkman 
would  do  it  right.  He  would  not  dare  to  operate  on 
him  without  her  being  there  unless  he  was  absolutely 
sure  it  would  be  all  right.  And  then  close  upon  that 
— he  would  have  waited  for  her  if— 

Appendicitis — that  was  what  those  quick  opera 
tions  were.  And  most  of  them — especially  with  Dr. 
Parkman — came  out  all  right.  And  Karl  was  the 
doctor's  best  friend !  Would  not  a  man  save  his  best 
friend  when  he  could  save  every  one  else?  And  Karl 
himself — his  will,  his  power,  his  love  for  her — why 
Karl  would  know  that  nothing  must  happen  while 
she  was  away!  But  close  upon  that  came  awful  vis 
ions — Oh  why  had  Dr.  Parkman  sent  her  away  and 
then  done  this  thing?  She  would  tell  him  when  she 
got  there — she  would  tell  him — 

It  would  all  be  right  when  she  got  there.  If  only 
the  train  would  hurry!  There  was  smoke  off  there. 
Was  ft? — It  iva$  the  smoke  of  Chicago  !  Nothing  had 
ever  looked  so  beautiful  before.  Very  soon  now ! 
Why,  perhaps  within  a  few  hours  she  and  Karl  would 
be  laughing  at  this !  "  Isn't  it  great  the  way  I  got 
on,  liebchen?"  he  would  say.  "Isn't  Parkman  a 
dandy?" 

They  were  passing  those  houses  on  the  outskirts. 


822  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

Oh  why  was  Chicago  so  big!  But  she  must  be  calm 
— very  calm;  she  must  not  excite  Karl  in  the  least. 
How  sorry  he  would  be  that  she  had  been  frightened 
like  this !  They  were  passing  larger  buildings,  com 
ing  closer  to  the  city.  She  gritted  her  teeth  hard, 
clenched  her  hands. 

Karl  was  at  the  hospital — the  telegram  told  that. 
She  would  get  off  at  the  stop  just  this  side  of  the 
main  station — that  was  a  litle  nearer  the  hospital, 
she  believed.  She  would  take  a  cab — if  only  there 
were  an  automobile! — but  the  cabman  would  surely 
go  very  fast  if  she  told  him  why  she  had  to  hurry  like 
this. 

Long  before  the  train  came  to  its  stop  she  was 
standing  at  the  door.  She  would  not  have  waited 
for  the  standstill  if  the  porter  had  not  held  her  back. 
Oh  how  she  must  hurry  now ! 

She  ran  to  the  nearest  cabman.  Would  he  hurry 
very  fast? — faster  than  he  ever  had  before?  It  was 
life  and  death,  it  was — "  Yes — yes,  lady,"  he  said, 
putting  her  in.  "  Yes,  I  understand.  I'll  hurry." 

"  But  faster,"  she  kept  saying  to  him — "  oh  please, 
faster!" 

She  saw  nothing  either  to  the  right  or  left.  She 
saw  only  the  straight  line  ahead  which  they  must 
travel.  And  still  everything  from  within  her  was 
pushing  her  on — oh  if  the  man  would  only  hurry! 

A  big  building  at  last — the  hospital.  Only  two 
blocks  now,  then  one,  and  then  the  man  had  slowed 
up.  She  was  out  before  he  stopped,  running  up  the 
steps — somebody  in  the  hospital  would  pay — and  up 


"OH,  HURRY— HURRY!"  323 

the  stairs.  The  elevator  was  there — but  her  own  feet 
would  take  her  faster. 

"  Dr.  Hubers? — Where  is  he?  "  she  said  in  choked 
voice  to  a  nurse  in  the  hall. 

The  nurse  started  to  speak,  but  Ernestine,  looking 
ahead,  saw  Dr.  Parkman  standing  in  the  door  of  a 
room.  She  rushed  to  him  with  outstretched  hand, 
white,  questioning,  pleading  face.  Her  lips  refused 
to  move. 


CHAPTER    XXXVI 
WITH   THE   OUTGOING  TIDE 

HE  simply  took  her  into  the  room,  and  there 
was  Karl — alive.  That  was  all  she  grasped 
at   first;   it   filled  her   so    completely   she 
could  take  in  nothing  else.     He  was  lying 
there,  seemingly  half  asleep,  looking  much  as  he  al 
ways  did,  save  that  of  course  it  was  plain  he  was 
very  sick.     She  stooped  down  and  kissed  him,  and  his 
face  lighted  up,  and  he  smiled  a  little.    "  Ernestine," 
he  murmured,  "  did  they  frighten  you?  " 

It  was  as  she  had  known !  His  thought  was  of  her. 
And  oh  how  sorry  Karl  would  be  when  he  was  quite 
well  and  she  told  him  all ! 

She  nestled  her  head  close  to  him,  her  arm  thrown 
about  him.  The  tears  were  running  down  her  cheeks. 
Of  the  blessedness  of  finding  Karl  here — breathing, 
smiling  upon  her,  sorry  she  had  been  frightened  I 
She  took  his  hand  and  it  responded  to  her  clasp. 
That  thrilled  her  through  and  through.  Those  aw 
ful  fears — those  never-to-be-forgotten  fears — that 
Karl's  hand  might  never  close  over  hers  again !  She 
leaned  over  him  that  she  might  feel  his  breath  upon 
her  face.  In  all  her  life  there  had  never  been  so 
blessed  a  joy  as  this  feeling  Karl's  breath  upon 
her  cheek.  Nothing  mattered  now — work,  eyes,  noth 
ing.  She  had  him  back;  she  asked  nothing  more  of 

324 


WITH    THE    OUTGOING    TIDE       325 

life.  What  could  anything  else  matter  now  that  those 
awful  fears  had  drawn  away?  She  was  sobbing 
quietly  to  herself.  Again  his  hand  closed  over  hers. 
Then  something  made  her  look  up,  and  at  the  foot 
of  the  bed  she  saw  Dr.  Parkman.  One  look  at  his 
face  and  she  grew  cold  from  head  to  foot ;  her  throat 
grew  painfully  tight ;  strange  things  came  before  her 
eyes.  She  could  not  move.  She  simply  remained 
there  upon  her  knees,  looking  at  Dr.  Parkman's  face, 
her  own  frozen  with  terror. 

The  doctor  came  to  her,  took  her  hands,  and 
helped  her  to  rise.  Two  nurses  and  another  doctor 
were  bending  over  Karl — doing  something.  Dr. 
Parkman  led  Ernestine  into  an  adjoining  room. 

She  did  not  take  her  eyes  from  his  face;  the  ap 
peal,  terror,  in  them  seemed  to  strike  him  dumb.  It 
was  as  though  his  own  throat  were  closed,  for  several 
times  he  tried  vainly  to  speak. 

"  Ernestine,"  he  said  at  last,  "  Karl  is  very  sick." 
"  How — sick?  "  she  managed  to  whisper. 
"  How — sick  ?  "    she   repeated   as    he   stood    there 
looking  at  her  helplessly. 

And,  finally,  he  said,  as  if  it  were  killing  him  to 

do  it—"  So  sick  that " 

"Don't  say  that!"— she  fairly  hissed  it  at  him. 

"  Don't  dare  say  that !    You  did  it— you "    And 

then,  sinking  down  beside  him,  catching  hold  of  his 
hand,  she  sobbed  out,  wildly,  heartbreakingly — "  Oh, 
Dr.  Parkman — oh,  please — please  tell  me  you  will 
save  Karl !  " 

Her  sobs  were  becoming  uncontrollable.     "  Ernes- 


326  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

tine,"  he  said,  sharply — "  be  quiet.  Be  quiet !  You 
have  got  to  help." 

The  sobs  stopped ;  she  rose  to  her  feet.  He  pulled 
up  a  chair  for  her,  but  she  did  not  sit  down.  A 
few  sobs  still  came,  but  her  face  was  becoming  stern, 
set. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  said,  holding  her  two  hands  tight 
against  her  breast,  and  looking  him  straight  in  the 
face. 

And  then  he  jerked  it  out.  Karl  had  been  taken 
ill — pain,  fever,  he  feared  appendicitis.  He  had  two 
other  doctors  see  him;  they  agreed  that  he  must  be 
operated  on  immediately.  They  brought  him  here. 
They  found — conditions  awful.  They  did  all  that 
surgery  could  do — every  known  thing  was  being  done 
now,  but — they  did  not  know.  He  had  rallied  a  little 
from  the  operation ;  now  he  seemed  to  be  drooping. 
He  was  in  bad  shape  generally, — heart  weakened  by 
the  shock  of  his  blindness,  intestines  broken  down  by 
lack  of  exercise,  whole  system  affected  by  changed 
conditions — all  these  things  combined  against  him. 
He  told  the  short  story  with  his  own  lips  white,  sway 
ing  a  little,  seeming  fairly  to  age  as  he  stood  there. 

Her  face  had  been  changing  as  she  listened.  He 
had  never  seen  a  human  face  look  as  hers  did  then ; 
he  had  never  heard  a  human  voice  sound  as  hers 
sounded  when  she  said :  "  Dr.  Parkman,  you  are 
mistaken."  She  looked  him  straight  in  the  eye — a 
look  which  held  the  whole  force  of  her  being.  "  I 
say  you  are  mistaken.  We  will  go  back  in  here  now 
to  Karl.  You  and  I  together  are  going  to  save  him." 


WITH    THE    OUTGOING    TIDE       327 

There  was  the  light  from  higher  worlds  in  her 
eye  as  she  went  back,  in  her  voice  a  force  which  men 
have  never  named  or  understood.  And  something 
which  emanated  from  her  took  hold  of  every  one  \vho 
came  into  that  room.  There  was  more  than  the  re 
sources  of  medical  science  at  work  now. 

On  her  knees  beside  the  bed,  her  arm  about  him, 
passionately  shielding  him  from  the  dark  forces 
around  him,  her  face  often  touching  his  as  if  reas 
suring  him,  Ernestine  spoke  to  Karl,  quietly,  ten 
derly,  forcefully,  love's  own  intuition  telling  her  how 
much  to  say,  when  to  speak.  By  her  warm  body 
which  loved  him,  by  her  great  spirit  which  claimed 
him,  she  would  hold  him  from  the  outgoing  tide.  Her 
voice  could  rouse  him  where  other  stimulants  failed; 
the  only  effort  he  made  was  the  tightening  of  his 
hand  over  hers,  and  sometimes  he  smiled  a  little  as 
he  felt  her  close  to  him. 

Two  hours  went  by;  the  lines  in  Dr.  Parkman's 
face  were  deepening.  They  worked  on  unfalteringly 
— hypodermics,  heat,  rubbing,  oxygen,  all  those 
things  with  which  man  seeks  to  deceive  himself,  and 
for  which  the  foe,  with  the  tolerance  of  power,  is 
willing  to  wait.  But  their  faces  were  changing.  The 
call  of  the  outgoing  tide,  that  tide  over  which  human 
determination  has  not  learned  to  prevail,  was  coming 
close.  They  worked  on,  for  they  were  trained  to 
work  on,  even  through  the  sense  of  their  own 
futility. 

Looking  about  her  Ernestine  saw  it  all,  and  held 
him  with  a  passionate  protectiveness.  If  all  else 


THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

failed,  her  arms — arms  to  which  he  had  ever  come 
for  help  and  consolation — could  surely  hold  him! 
The  cold  fear  crept  farther  and  farther  into  her 
heart,  and  as  it  crept  on  her  arms  about  him  tightened. 
Not  while  she  held  him  like  this!  Oh  not  while  she 
held  him  like  this ! 

And  then  a  frenzy  possessed  her.  That  she  should 
sit  here  powerless — weeping — despairing,  surrender 
ing,  while  Karl  slipped  from  her !  She  must  do 
something — say  something — something  to  hold  him 
firm — call  him  back — make  him  understand  that  he 
must  fight ! 

Suddenly  a  light  broke  over  her  face.  She  looked 
at  Dr.  Parkman,  who  was  bending  over  Karl.  "  I 
will  tell  him,"  she  whispered — "  what  I  did — the  secret 
— about  the  work." 

He  hesitated;  medically  his  judgment  was  against 
it ;  and  then,  white  to  the  lips  with  the  horror  of  the 
admission  he  faced  the  fact  that  this  had  passed  be 
yond  things  medical.  Let  her  try  where  he  had 
failed.  Through  a  rush  of  uncontrollable  tears  he 
nodded  yes. 

And  she  did  tell  him, — in  words  which  were  not 
sentences,  with  sharp  flashes  of  thought — such  flashes 
as  alone  could  penetrate  the  semi-consciousness  into 
which  she  must  reach ;  after  a  moment  of  pause  in 
which  to  gather  herself  together  for  the  great  battle 
of  her  life,  with  concentration,  illumination,  with  a 
piercing  eloquence  which  brought  hot  tears  to  every 
cheek,  and  deep,  deep  prayers  to  hearts  which  would 
have  said  they  did  not  know  how  to  pray — a  woman 


WITH    THE    OUTGOING    TIDE       329 

fighting  for  the  man  she  loved,  human  love  at 
its  whitest  heat  pitted  against  destiny — she  told 
him. 

"  Karl,"  at  the  last—"  you  understand?— That's 
the  great  secret! — That's  the  great  picture!  I've 
not  painted  one  stroke  this  winter  !  I've  been  working 
for  you — working  in  your  laboratory  every  day — 
studying  day  and  night — getting  ready  to  be  your 
eyes — going  to  give  you  back  your  work — oh,  Karl 

—Karl — won't  you "   but  the   sobs   could  hold 

back  no  longer. 

She  had  reached  him.  He  took  it  in,  just  a  little 
at  first,  but  comprehension  was  growing,  and  upon 
his  face  a  great  wondering,  a  softening. 

"  Old  man," — it  was  Dr.  Parkman  now — "  you 
get  that?  See  what  you've  got  ahead?  God,  man — 
but  it  was  splendid !  She  came  to  me  with  the  idea — 
her  idea — thought  it  all  out  herself.  Karl  was  not 
happy — Karl  must  have  his  work.  Karl — Karl — it 
was  nothing  but  Karl.  She  was  closer  to  him  than 
any  one  in  the  world.  She  could  make  him  see  what 
others  could  not.  Then  she  would  be  his  eyes.  Man 
— do  you  know  that  this  woman  has  fairly  made  over 
her  soul  for  love  of  you?  Do  you  know  that  she  has 
given  up  becoming  one  of  the  great  painters  of  the 
world  to  become  your  assistant?  Do  you  get  it, 
Karl?  So  help  me  God  it  was  the  pluckiest  fight  I've 
ever  seen  or  heard  of.  And  she's  won  !  I'm  no  fool— 
and  I  say  she  can  do  what  she  says  she  can.  She's 
ready.  She's  ready  to  begin  to-morrow.  What  do 
you  say,  old  man?  What  do  you  think  of  Ernestine 


330  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

now?  Isn't  she  worth  taking  a  good  brace  and  living 
for?  " 

And  then  he  got  it  all ;  he  was  taking  it  in,  rising 
to  it,  understanding,  glowing.  And  a  look  that  was 
very  wonderful  was  growing  upon  Karl's  face. 

"  Ernestine,"  he  whispered,  dwelling  long  upon  the 
name,  his  voice  a  voice  of  wonder,  "  you  did  that — 
for  me?" 

"  I  did  it  because  I  love  you  so ! "  she  whispered, 
and  it  seemed  that  surely  death  itself  could  not  with 
stand  the  tenderness  of  it. 

And  then  his  whole  face  became  transfigured.  His 
blind  eyes  were  opened  to  the  light  of  love.  His 
illumined  face  reflected  it  as  the  supreme  moment  of 
his  life.  In  that  moment  he  triumphed  over  all 
powers  set  against  him.  He  rose  out  of  suffering  on 
wings  of  glory.  He  transcended  sorrow  and  tragedy, 
blindness — yes,  in  that  moment,  death.  He  saw  be 
hind  the  veil ;  he  saw  into  the  glory  of  a  soul ;  he  com 
prehended  the  wonder  of  love.  Compensation  for 
suffering  and  loss — understanding,  victory,  peace ; 
it  was  the  human  face  lighted  with  divine  light. 
They  did  not  dare  to  move  or  breathe  as  they  looked 
upon  the  wonder  of  his  face. 

"  Ernestine — little  one,"  he  whispered,  the  light 
not  going  from  his  face — "  you  loved  me — -like 
that?" 

"  You  see,  Karl," — it  was  this  must  reach  him — 
"  what  you  have  to  live  for  now  ?  " 

But  he  did  not  get  that.  He  was  filled  with  the 
wonder  of  that  which  he  was  seeing. 


WITH    THE    OUTGOING    TIDE       331 

"You  sec,  old  man,"  said  Parkman,  sharply, 
"  what  you've  got  ahead  of  you?  " 

But  he  only  murmured,  happily,  faintly,  as  one 
about  to  fall  asleep:  "  She  loved  me— like  that." 

It  terrified  her ;  it  seemed,  not  as  though  the  great 
idea  were  holding  him,  but  as  though  he  were  taking 
it  away  with  him,  even  as  though  well  content  to  go, 
having  this  to  take  with  him  from  life. 

«  Karl — Karl !  "  she  sobbed — "  don't  you  see  how 
I  love  you? — don't  you  see  you  must  live  now — 
for  me?  " 

But  he  had  far  transcended  all  sense  of  suffering 
or  loss,  even  her  suffering  and  loss.  Her  plea — she 
herself — could  not  reach  him.  He  and  the  great  idea 
were  going  away  together.  And  that  light  did  not 
leave  his  face. 

It  was  so  that  he  sank  into  a  sleep.  He  did  not 
hear  Ernestine's  sobs ;  he  knew  nothing  of  her  plead 
ing  cries.  In  a  frenzy  of  grief  she  felt  him  going 
out  to  where  she  could  not  reach  him.  She  called  to 
him,  and  he  did  not  answer.  She  pressed  close  to 
him,  and  he  did  not  know  that  she  was  there. 

But  the  great  idea  was  with  him.  It  lighted  his 
face  to  the  last.  It  was  as  if  that  were  what  he  was 
taking  with  him  from  life.  It  was  as  if  that,  and  that 
alone,  he  could  keep. 

"Karl — Karl!"  she  cried,  terrorised— "  look  at 
me !  Speak  to  me !  /  am  here !  Ernestine  is  here !  " 
— And  then,  the  strongest  word  of  woman  to  man — 
"  I'm  frightened !  Oh  take  care  of  me — Karl — take 
care  of  me !  " 


332  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

Dr.  Parkman  tried  to  take  her  away,  but  she  re 
sisted  fiercely,  and  they  let  her  stay.  And  during  the 
few  hours  which  followed  she  never  ceased  her  plead 
ing — to  him  to  come  back  to  her,  to  them  to  help. 
Crazed  with  the  consciousness  of  his  slipping  from 
her,  wild  beyond  all  reason  with  the  thought  that  her 
kisses  could  not  move  him,  her  arms  could  not  hold 
him,  her  passion  lashed  to  the  uttermost  in  the  thought 
that  she  must  claim  him  now  or  lose  him  forever,  she 
pleaded  with  all  the  eloquence  of  human  voice  and 
human  tears.  She  could  not  believe  it — that  he  was 
there  beside  her  and  would  not  listen  to  her  pleadings. 
Again  and  again  she  told  him  that  she  was  frightened 
and  alone;  that — surely  that — he  must  hear.  It 
could  not  be  that  he  was  there  beside  her,  breathing, 
moving  a  little  now  and  then,  and  did  not  hear  her 
call  for  help. 

And  when  at  last  she  heard  some  one  speak  a  low 
word,  and  saw  some  one  bend  over  him  to  close  his 
eyes,  she  uttered  one  piercing,  heartbreaking  cry 
which  they  would  bear  with  them  so  long  as  they 
lived.  And  then,  throwing  herself  upon  him,  shield 
ing  him,  keeping  him,  there  came  the  wild,  futile  call 
of  life  to  death—"  Karl !— Karl  I— Karl!  " 


PART     THREE 

CHAPTER    XXXVII 

BENEATH    DEAD    LEAVES 

THE  cold  March  rain  drove  steadily  against 
the  car  window.   His  thoughts  were  like  that, 
— cold,   ugly,   driving   thoughts.      Looking 
out  at  the  bleak  country  through  which  they 
were  passing  he  saw  that  dead  leaves  were  hanging 
forlornly  to  bare  trees.     His  hopes  were  like  that, — 
a  few  dead  hopes  clinging  dismally  to  the  barren  tree 
of  experience.     So  it  seemed  to  Dr.  Parkman  as  he 
looked  from  the  car  window  at  the  country  of  hills 
and  hollows  through  which  he  was  passing.    The  out 
lived  winter's  snow  still  in  the  hollows,  last  summer's 
leaves  blown  meaninglessly  about,  denied  even  the  re 
pose  of  burial,  the  cheerless  wind  and  the  cheerless 
rain — it  matched  his  mood. 

Almost  a  year  had  gone  by,  and  Dr.  Parkman  was 
going  out  to  see  Ernestine.  Every  mile  which 
brought  him  nearer,  brought  added  uncertainty  as  to 
what  he  should  say  when  he  reached  her.  What  was 
there  for  him  to  say?  The  dead  leaves  of  her  hopes 
were  all  huddled  in  the  hollow.  Was  he  becoming  so 
irrational  as  to  think  he  could  give  life  to  things 
dead?  Was  she  not  right  in  wishing  to  cover  them 

333 


334  THE  GLORY  OF,  THE  CONQUERED 

up  decently  and  let  them  be?  Was  anything  to  be 
gained  in  blowing  them  about  as  last  summer's  leaves 
were  being  blown  about  now  by  the  unsparing,  uncar 
ing  winds  of  March? 

She  was  out  where  she  had  lived  as  a  girl, — living 
in  the  very  house  which  had  once  been  her  home.  He 
had  understood  her  going.  It  was  the  simple  law  of 
living  things.  The  animal  wounded  beyond  all 
thought  of  life  seeks  only  a  place  of  seclusion. 

But  when  Georgia  returned  from  her  visit  to  Er 
nestine  the  month  before,  she  came  to  him  with: 

"  Dr.  Parkman,  you  must  do  something  for  Ernes 
tine  !  "  And  after  she  had  told  him  many  things,  and 
he  questioned  still  further,  she  said,  in  desperate  de 
sire  to  make  it  plain — "  She  is  becoming  a  great  deal 
like  you ! " 

And  from  then  until  the  time  of  starting  on  this 
trip  he  had  had  no  peace. 

He  understood;  understood  far  more  deeply  than 
she  wrho  would  have  him  see.  Was  any  one  better 
qualified  to  understand  that  thing  than  he? 

Well, — what  then?  What  now?  Was  there  any 
other  thing  to  expect?  Was  he,  of  all  men,  going 
to  her  with  platitudes  about  courage  and  faith  ?  And 
even  so,  would  sophistry  avail  anything?  Did  he 
not  know  Ernestine  far  too  well  far  that? 

His  own  face  bore  the  deep  marks  of  hard  and  bit 
ter  things.  But  the  loss  and  the  sorrow  showed  them 
selves  in  strange  ways,  little  understood  as  manifes 
tations  of  grief.  He  ran  his  automobile  faster, 
showed  even  less  caution  than  before  in  his  business 


BENEATH    DEAD   LEAVES  335 

ventures,  had  less  and  less  to  say,  was  called  more 
and  more  strange  by  those  associated  with  him.  And 
the  thing  which  mocked  him  most  of  all  was  that 
the  year  had  been  attended  with  the  greatest  profes 
sional  successes  of  his  life.  He  never  heard  his 
plaudits  sounded  without  a  curse  in  his  heart. 

"  It  went  mighty  hard  with  Parkman  not  to  be 
able  to  save  Hubers,"  medical  men  said  with  growing 
frequency  as  the  year  advanced.  But  there  were  none 
of  them  who  dreamed  into  what  deep  and  vital  things 
the  cut  had  gone.  With  his  own  will  and  his  own  skill 
he  patched  it  up  on  the  surface,  not  the  man  to 
leave  his  wound  exposed  to  other  eyes.  But  he  knew 
its  hopelessness  too  well  ever  to  try  and  reach  the 
bottom  of  the  wound.  It  was  not  a  good,  clean, 
straight  cut  such  as  time  expects  to  heal.  Indeed 
it  was  not  a  cut  at  all;  nothing  so  wholesome  and 
reachable  as  that.  It  was  a  destroying  force,  a  thing 
burrowing  at  the  springs  of  life,  a  thing  which  made 
its  way  through  devious  paths  to  vital  sources.  Did 
a  patched  up  surface  mean  anything  to  a  thing  like 
that? 

The  evening  of  the  day  he  had  seen  Georgia,  and 
she  told  him  of  Ernestine,  he  sat  a  long  time  in  his 
office  alone.  The  grey  ashes  of  his  own  life  seemed 
spread  around  him.  And  it  was  he,  who  was  asked, 
out  of  this,  to  rekindle  a  great  flame?  And  what 
flame?  What  was  there  left  for  Ernestine?  Ask 
her  to  come  back — to  what?  Fight — for  what? 

He  did  not  know,  or  at  least  he  said  he  did  not 
know,  and  yet  he,  like  Georgia,  saw  it  as  all  wrong, 


336     THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

unendurable,  not  to  be  countenanced,  that  Ernestine 
should  shut  herself  out  from  life. 

Perhaps  he  was  going  to  her  because  he  knew  so 
well  the  desolation  of  ashes.  Was  it  because  he  had 
lived  so  long  among  them  that  he  hated  to  see  another 
fire  go  out?  Could  it  be  that  a  man  who  had  dwelt 
long  among  ashes  knew  most  surely  the  worth  of  the 
flame  ? 

He  had  reached  the  end  of  his  journey.  He  had 
come  to  the  western  college  town  for  which  he  had 
set  out.  From  the  window  he  could  see  some  of  the 
college  buildings.  Yes,  this  was  the  place. 

He  rose  and  put  on  his  coat.  A  few  minutes  later 
he  was  standing  on  the  station  platform,  watching 
the  on-going  train.  Then  he  turned,  with  decision, 
in  the  direction  Georgia  had  bade  him  go. 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII 

PATCHWORK  QUILTS 

AD    now    that    the    first    ten    minutes    had 
passed   he    felt   anew   the   futility    of   his 
errand.     His  first  look  into  her  face  made 
him  certain  he  might  better  have  remained 
in  Chicago.    The  thing  which  cut  off  all  approach  was 
that  she  too  had  done  some  work  on  the  surface. 

It  seemed  to  him  as  he  sat  there  in  utter  silence 
that  he  had  been  brutal,  not  alone  to  her  heart,  but 
to  his  own,  that  he  asked  too  much,  not  only  of  her 
command,  but  of  his.  He  had  come  to  talk  of  Ernes 
tine  and  the  future;  the  things  about  him  drew  him 
overmasteringly  to  Karl  and  the  past. 

She  had  taken  him  to  her  little  sitting  room  up 
stairs,  forced  to  do  so  because  the  fire  down  stairs 
had  gone  out.  He  understood  now  why  it  was  she 
had  faltered  so  in  asking  him  to  come  up  here.  Here 
was  Karl's  big  chair — many  things  from  their  library 
at  home.  It  was  where  she  lived  with  her  past.  She 
wanted  no  one  here. 

She  would  make  no  attempt  at  helping  him.     She 
sat  there  in  silence,  her  face  white,  almost  stern.     In 
her  aloofness  it  was  as  though  she  were  trying  to 
hold  herself  from  the  consciousness  of  his  presence. 
He  too  remained  silent.    For  he  was  filled  with  the 
very  things  against  which  he  had  come  to  protest. 
337 


338  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

It  was  Karl  who  was  very  close ;  it  was  the  thoughts 
of  Karl's  life  which  filled  him.  His  heart  had  never 
been  so  warm  for  his  friend,  his  appreciation  had 
never  been  so  great  as  now.  Karl,  and  all  that  Karl 
meant,  had  never  been  so  close,  and  so  dear.  And 
the  words  he  finally  said  to  Ernestine,  words  of  pas 
sionate  tenderness  spoken  in  utter  unconsciousness  of 
how  far  he  had  gone  from  his  purpose,  were :  "  I 
do  not  believe  any  of  us  half  appreciated  Karl ! " 

Startled,  she  gave  him  a  long,  strange  look.  "  No, 
Dr.  Parkman," — very  low — "  neither  do  I." 

"  I  have  been  looking  into  it  since.  I  wanted  to 
throw  Karl's  results  to  the  right  man.  He  was  head 
and  shoulders  above  them  all." 

There  was  a  slow  closing  of  her  eyes,  but  she  was 
not  shrinking  from  him  now ; — this  the  kind  of  hurt 
she  was  able  to  bear. 

"  If  he  had  been  left  to  work  out  his  life "  but 

he  stopped,  brought  suddenly  to  a  sense  of  how  far 
he  had  lost  himself. 

She  too  saw  it.  "  Dr.  Parkman," — with  a  smile 
which  put  him  far  from  her — "  this  is  what  you  came 
to  say?  You  think  I  need  any  incitement?  You 
needn't,  Dr.  Parkman," — with  rising  passion — "  you 
needn't.  Every  time  I  leave  this  room  two  things  are 
different.  I  have  more  love  for  Karl — more  hate  for 
his  destroyers.  And  those  two  passions  will  feed 
upon  me  to  the  end  of  my  life !  " 

Instinctively  he  put  out  a  protesting  hand.  It  was 
too  plain  that  it  was  as  she  said. 

"  More  love  for  Karl — more  hate  for  his  destroy- 


PATCHWORK    QUILTS  339 

crs," — she  repeated  it  with  a  passionate  steadfastness 
as  though  it  comprehended  the  creed  of  her  life. 

"  His — destroyers?  "  he  faltered.  "  What  do  you 
mean — by  that?  " 

And  she  answered,  with  a  directness  before  which 
dissembling  and  evasion  crumbled  away:  "  Read  the 
answer  in  your  own  heart. 

"  And  if  you  cannot  look  into  your  own  heart," 
she  went  on,  unsparingly,  "  if  your  own  heart  has 
been  shut  away  so  long  that  it  is  closed  even  to  your 
self,  then  look  into  your,  looking-glass  and  read  the 
answer  there.  Let  the  grey  hairs  in  your  own  head, 
the  lines  in  your  own  face, — yes,  the  words  of  your 
own  mouth — tell  you  what  you  would  know  of  Karl's 
destroyers." 

He  drew  in  his  lips  in  that  way  of  his ;  one  side  of 
his  face  twitched  uncontrollably.  He  had  come  to 
reach  her  soul,  reach  it  if  must  be  through  channels 
of  suffering.  He  had  not  thought  of  her  reaching 
his  like  this. 

But  she  could  not  stop.  "  And  if  you  want  to 
know  what  I  have  gone  through,  look  back  to  what 
you  have  gone  through  yourself — then  make  some 
of  those  hours  just  as  much  stronger  as  love  is 
stronger  than  friendship — and  perhaps  you  can  get 
some  idea  of  what  it  has  been  to  me ! " 

He  was  dumb  before  that.  Putting  it  that  way 
there  was  not  a  word  to  say. 

He  saw  now  the  real  change.  It  was  more  than  hol 
lowed  -cheeks  and  eyes  from  which  the  light  of  other 
days  had  gone,  more  than  soft  curves  surrendered 


340  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

to  grief  and  youth  eaten  out  by  bitterness.  It  was 
a  change  at  the  root  of  things.  A  great  tide  had 
been  turned  the  other  way.  But  in  the  days  when 
happiness  softened  her  and  love  made  it  all  harmoni 
ous  he  had  never  felt  her  force  as  he  felt  it  now. 
Reach  this?  Turn  this?  The  moment  brought  new 
understanding  of  the  paltriness  of  words. 

It  was  she  who  spoke.  "  Dr.  Parkman," — looking 
at  him  with  a  keenness  in  which  there  was  almost  an 
affectionate  understanding — "  you  did  not  say  what 
you  intended  to  say  when  you  came  into  this  room. 
You  intended  to  speak  of  me — but  the  room  swept 
you  back  to  Karl.  Oh — I  know.  And  it  is  just 
because  you  were  swept  back — care  like  this — that  I 
am  going  to  tell  you  something. 

"  Doctor," — blinded  with  tears — "  we  never  under 
stood.  None  of  us  ever  knew  what  it  meant  to  Karl 
to  be  blind.  After — after  he  had  gone — I  found 
something.  In  this  book  " — reaching  over  to  Karl's 
copy  of  Faust — "  I  found  a  letter — a  very  long  let 
ter  Karl  wrote  in  those  last  few  days,  when  he  was 
there — alone.  I  found  it  the  day  I  went  out  to  the 
library  alone — the  day  before  they — broke  it  up.  Oh 

doctor — what  it  told!  I  want  you  to  know "but 

she  could  not  go  on. 

When  she  raised  her  head  the  fierce  light  of  hate 
was  burning  through  the  tears.  "  Can  you  fancy 
how  I  hate  the  light  ?  Can  you  fancy  with  what  feel 
ings  I  wake  in  the  morning  and  see  it  come — light 
from  which  Karl  was  shut  out — which  he  craved  like 
that — and  could  not  have?  Do  you  see  how  it  sym- 


PATCHWORK    QUILTS  341 

bolises  all  those  other  things  taken  from  him  and 
me?  He  talked  of  another  light — light  he  must  gain 
for  himself — light  which  the  soul  must  have.  And 
Karl  was  longing  for  the  very  light  I  was  ready  to 
bring!  He  would  have  believed  in  it — turned  to  it 
eagerly — the  letter  shows  that.  Do  you  wonder  that 
there  is  nothing  but  darkness  in  my  soul — that  I  want 
nothing  else?  Look  at  Karl's  life!  Always  cut  off 
just  this  side  of  achievement!  Every  battle  stopped 
right  in  the  hour  of  victory!  Made  great  only  to 
have  his  greatness  buffetted  about  like — held  up  for 
sport! — I  will  say  it !  " — in  fierce  response  to  his  pro 
testing  gesture — "  It's  true !  " 

He  tried  to  speak,  but  this  was  far  too  big  for 
words  which  did  not  come  straight  from  the  soul. 

"Do  you  know  what  I  am  doing  now?"  She 
laughed — and  none  of  it  had  told  as  much  as  that 
laugh  revealed.  "  I  am  making  patchwork  quilts ! 
Can  you  fancy  anything  more  worthless  in  this  world 
than  a  patchwork  quilt? — cutting  things  up  and  then 
sewing  them  together  again,  and  making  them  uglier 
in  the  end  than  they  were  in  the  beginning?  Do  you 
know  anything  more  futile  to  do  with  life  than  that  ? 
Well  that's  where  my  life  is  now.  My  aunt  had  begun 
some,  and  I  am  finishing  them  up.  And  once — 

once "  but  the  sob  in  her  voice  gathered  up  the 

words. 

He  wanted  to  speak  then;  that  sob  brought  her 
nearer.  But  she  went  on : 

"  I  sit  sewing  those  little  pieces  together — a  foolish 
thing  to  do,  but  one  must  be  doing  something,  and 


THE    GLORY    OF,    THE    CONQUERED 

as  I  think  how  useless  it  is  there  comes  the  thought  of 
whether  it  is  any  more  useless  than  all  the  other  things 
in  life.  Is  it  any  more  useless  than  surgery?  For 
can  a  great  surgeon  save  his  best  friend?  Is  it  any 
more  useless  than  science — for  can  science  do  any 
thing  for  her  own?  Is  it  any  more  useless  than  am 
bition  and  purpose  and  hope — for  does  not  fate  make 
sport  of  them  all?  Is  it  any  more  useless  than  books 
— for  can  books  reach  the  hearts  which  need  them 
most?  Is  it  any  more  useless  than  art — for  does 
art  reach  realities  ?  Is  it  any  more  useless  than  light 
— for  can  light  penetrate  the  real  darkness?  Is  it," 
— she  wavered,  quivered ;  she  had  been  talking  in  low, 
quick  voice,  her  eyes  fixed  on  something  straight 
ahead,  as  though  reading  her  words  out  there  before 
her.  And  now,  as  she  held  back,  and  he  saw  what 
she  saw  and  could  not  say,  he  asked  for  her,  slowly : 
"  Is  it  any  more  useless  than  love?  " 


CHAPTER    XXXIX 

ASH    HEAP    AND    ROSE   JAR 

A  she  broke  then   to  the  sobs   for  which  he 
had  hoped,  something  of  tremendous  force 
stirred  within  the  man ;  and  he  felt  that  if 
he  could  bring  her  from  the  outer  darkness 
where  she  had  been  carried,  back  to  the  things  which 
were  her  soul's  own,  that  his  own  life,  his  whole  life, 
with  all  of  the  dark  things   through  which   it  had 
passed,  would  have  found  justification.     He  had  tried 
to  save  Karl,  and  failed.     But  there  was  left  Ernes 
tine.     And  it  seemed  to  him — he  saw  it  simply,  di 
rectly,  unquestioningly — that  after  all  he  would  not 
have  failed  Karl  if  he  could  do  what  it  was  in  his 
heart  to  do  now  for  her. 

Looking  at  her  bowed  head  he  saw  it  all — the  com 
plete  overthrow,  the  rich  field  of  life  rendered  barren 
waste.  Barren  waste — but  was  that  true  for  Ernes 
tine?  Did  there  not  remain  for  her  the  scent  of  the 
field?  The  memory  of  that  glorious,  luxuriant 
growth?  With  him  barren  waste — but  for  her  did 
there  not  grow  in  the  field  of  life  some  things  which 
were  everlasting?  With  the  quickness  with  which  he 
saw  everything  he  saw  that  it  was  the  picture  of  his 
own  barrenness  could  show  her  most  surely  the  things 
which  for  her  remained. 

348 


344     THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

He  drew  back  from  the  thought  as  one  draws  away 
from  the  rude  touch  upon  a  wound.  Lay  bare  the 
scars  of  his  life  that  another  profit  by  their  ugliness  ? 
Years  of  habit  were  against  it ;  everything  fundamen 
tally  himself  was  against  it.  But  he  was  a  man  who 
had  never  yet  shrunk  from  the  thing  he  saw  was  right 
to  do.  The  cost  of  an  accomplishment  never  deterred 
him  from  a  thing  he  saw  must  be  accomplished.  With 
each  second  of  listening  to  her  sobs,  he  was  becoming 
once  more  the  man  who  masters,  the  man  ruthless  and 
unsparing  in  his  purposefulness. 

"  Ernestine,"  he  began,  and  his  voice  was  very 
strange,  for  it  knew  it  was  to  carry  things  it  had 
never  carried  before,  "  you  and  I  are  similarly  placed 
in  that  we  have  both  lost  the  great  thing  of  life. 
But  there  is  something  remains  to  each  of  us.  Life 
has  left  something  to  us  both.  To  you  it  has  left 
a  rose  jar.  To  me — a  heap  of  ashes." 

It  came  with  the  moment's  need.  It  comprehended 
it  so  well  the  channels  long  closed  seemed  of  them 
selves  to  open.  In  the  clearness  with  which  he  saw 
it,  the  fulness  with  which  he  felt  it,  he  lost  himself. 

"Do  you  know  that  you  have  no  right  to  cry 
out  against  life?  Do  you  know  that  there  are  men 
and  women  who  would  lay  down  their  lives — yes, 
and  give  up  their  immortal  souls — for  hours  which 
you  have  had?  Do  you  know  that  you  have  no  right 
to  say  Karl  Hubers  was  mocked  by  fate,  made  sport 
of,  buffetted  about?  Do  you  know,"— his  face  went 
white  as  he  said  this,  slowly — "  that  I  would  be  a 
thousand  times  willing  to  give  up  my  two  eyes — yes, 


ASH    HEAP    AND    ROSE    JAR       345 

and  lay  down  my  life — just  to  know,  as  he  knew,  that 
love  was  great  and  life  was  good?  " 

The  tears  remained  undried  upon  her  -cheek.  He 
held  her. 

"  Look  deeper.  There  is  another  way  to  read 
Karl's  life — a  deeper  truth  than  those  truths  you  have 
been  seeing. 

"  Ernestine,  we  all  dream  of  love ;  we  all  desire  it. 
It  is  only  at  rare,  rare  times  it  comes  as  it  came  to 
you.  And  I  say  to  you — and  I  mean  it  from  the  bot 
tom  of  my  heart — that  if  you  had  been  forced  to  give 
up  your  love  in  the  first  hour  of  its  fulfilment,  for 
all  that  you  should  thank  God  through  the  remainder 
of  your  life  that  it  had  been  yours.  For  you  had 
it ! — and  nothing,  loss,  death,  defeat,  disappointment 
of  every  kind,  can  strip  from  your  soul  the  conscious 
ness  that  once,  no  matter  for  how  short  a  time,  love 
in  its  fulness  and  perfection  was  yours.  Long, 
lonely  years  may  come,  and  all  hard  things  may  come, 
but  through  it  all  the  thing  to  keep  your  soul  in 
tune  is  the  memory  of  some  one  perfect  hour." 

Stillness  followed  that,  the  stillness  which  was  si 
lence.  She  had  not  moved. 

"You  dreamed  your  dream," — and  in  his  voice 
now  the  beautiful  things  of  appreciation  and  under 
standing.  "  I  know  your  dream.  You  dreamed  of 
growing  old  together;  of  taking  from  life  everything 
there  was  together;  of  achieving  to  the  uttermost; 
of  rejoicing  in  each  other's  victories,  growing  more 
and  more  close  together.  I  know  your  dream — a 
beautiful  dream.  Giving  up  some  things  as  the 


346    THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

changing  years  do  their  work,  and  taking  on  the 
other  things,  the  more  quiet,  in  fact  finer  things, 
that  come  with  the  years.  Oh,  yes — don't  think  I 
do  not  know  that  dream.  To  walk  together  down 
the  years,  meet  them  fearlessly,  gladly,  in  the  thought 
that  they  but  add  to  the  fulness  of  your  love — I 
know — I  know.  And  now  that  it  is  not  to  be  as  you 
thought,  you  say  life  has  left  nothing  to  you;  that 
you  hate  it ;  will  have  none  of  it.  Oh,  Ernestine,  if 
you  could  only  know  how  rich  you  are!" 

Then  harshly,  rudely,  the  change ;  the  voice  which 
had  seemed  to  caress  each  word  was  now  like  a  lash. 

"  Suppose  you  didn't  have  the  luxury  of  giving 
yourself  up  to  your  own  heart?  Suppose  that  every 
day  and  night  of  your  life,  you  had  to  fight  memory, 
knowing  it  held  nothing  for  you  but  jeers  and  mock 
ery  and  things  too  damnable  for  words !  Suppose 
you  had  to  fairly  forbid  yourself  to  think  of  the 
beautiful  things  of  life !  Suppose  that  what  had  been 
the  most  beautiful  moments  of  your  life  were  made, 
by  memory,  the  most  hideous !  Suppose  the  memory 
of  his  kiss  always  brought  with  it  the  consciousness 
of  his  falseness ;  that  his  words  of  love  never  came 
back  to  you  without  the  knowledge  that  he  had  been 
laughing  at  you  in  his  heart  all  the  time!  Suppose 
you  could  never  get  away  from  the  damning  truth 
that  what  you  gave  from  the  depth  of  your  heart 
was  tossed  aside  with  a  laugh!  Suppose  you  had 
given  the  great  passion  of  your  life,  the  best  that 
was  in  you,  to  a  liar  and  a  hypocrite !  Suppose  you 
had  been  made  a  fool  of ! — easy  game !  Then  what 


ASH    HEAP    AND    ROSE    JAR       347 

of  life? — your  belief  in  love? — thoughts  of  fate? 
Great  God,  woman,  can't  you  see  what  you  have 
got?" 

After  the  throbbing  moment  which  followed  that 
there  came  a  great  quiet;  slowly  passion  settled  to 
sadness.  He  seemed  to  have  forgotten  her,  to  be 
speaking  instead  to  his  own  heart,  as  he  said,  very 
low,  his  voice  touched  with  the  tenderness  of  unre 
linquished  dreams:  "To  have  had  one  hour — just 
one  perfect  hour,  and  then  the  memory  of  that  un 
tarnished  forever — it  would  be  enough." 

Her  heart  rushed  passionately  to  its  own  defence ; 
she  wanted  to  tell  him  no!  She  wanted  to  tell  him 
it  was  cruel  to  be  permitted  to  live  for  a  time  in  a 
beautiful  country,  only  to  be  turned  out  into  the 
dark.  She  wanted  to  tell  him  that  to  know  love  was 
to  need  it  forever.  But  his  head  had  fallen  to  his 
hand ;  he  seemed  entirely  lost  to  her,  and  even  now  she 
knew  his  answer  to  what  she  would  say.  "  But  you 
had  it,"  he  would  reply.  "  The  cruel  thing  would  be 
to  awaken  and  find  no  such  country  had  ever  ex 
isted."  They  would  get  no  closer  than  that,  and 
with  new  passionateness  her  heart  went  out  to  Karl. 
Karl  would  understand  it  as  it  was  to  her ! 

He  too  felt  that  they  could  come  no  closer  than 
this.  They  sat  there  in  the  gathering  twilight  with 
their  separate  thoughts  as  souls  sit  together  almost  in 
the  dark,  seeing  one  another  in  shadow,  across  dim 
spaces. 

The  tearing  open  of  his  heart  had  left  him  weak 
ened  with  pain.  Perhaps  that  was  why  he  was  so 


348  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

very  tired,  and  perhaps  it  was  because  he  was  so 
tired  that  this  thought  of  growing  old  came  back  to 
him.  It  seemed  to  him  now,  leaning  back  in  his  chair 
and  filled  with  the  things  of  which  he  had  spoken, 
that  almost  as  great  as  a  living  presence  with  which 
to  share  the  years,  would  be  that  thing  of  growing 
old  with  a  beautiful  memory.  It  would  be  a  supreme 
thing  to  have  a  hand  in  your  hand,  a  face  against 
your  face,  a  heart  against  your  heart  as  you  stepped 
on  into  the  years ;  but  if  that  could  not  be,  and  per 
fection  is  not  given  freely  in  this  life,  surely  it  would 
keep  the  note  of  cheer  in  one's  voice,  the  kindly  gleam 
in  one's  eye,  to  bring  with  one  into  old  age  the  mem 
ory  of  a  perfect  love.  It  would  be  lonely  then  when 
one  sat  in  the  twilight  and  dreamed — but  what  an 
other  loneliness !  If  instead  of  holding  one's  self  away 
from  one's  own  heart,  one  could  turn  to  it  with :  "  She 
loved  me  like  that.  Her  arms  have  been  about  my 
neck  in  true  affection ;  her  whole  being  radiated  love 
for  me;  she  had  no  words  to  tell  it  and  could  tell  it 
only  with  her  eyes  and  with  the  richness  and  the 
lavishness  of  her  kisses.  She  would  have  given  up 
the  world  for  me ;  she  inspired  me  to  my  best  deeds ; 
she  comforted  me  in  my  times  of  discouragement  and 
rejoiced  with  me  in  my  hours  of  cheer.  She  is  not 
here  now,  and  it  is  lonely,  but  she  has  left  me,  in 
spirit,  the  warmth  of  her  presence,  the  conscious 
ness  that  she  loved  me  with  a  love  in  which  there  was 
no  selfishness  nor  faltering,  and  the  things  she  has 
left  me  I  can  carry  through  life  and  into  eter 
nity." 


ASH    HEAP    AND    ROSE    JAR         349 

And  all  of  that  was  Ernestine's  could  she  but  see 
her  way  to  take  it !  ?? 

He  knew  that  it  was  growing  late.  "I  must  go, 
he  said,  but  still  he  sat  there,  knowing  he  had  not 
finished  what  he  had  come  to  say.  But  need  he  say 
it?  Would  it  avail  anything?  Must  not  all  human 
souls  work  their  own  way  through  the  darkness? 
And  when  the  right  word  came,  must  it  not  come  from 
Karl  himself,  through  some  memory,  some  strange 
breath  of  the  spirit?  He  knew,  but  she  would  have 
to  see  it  for  herself.  That  each  one's  seeing  it  for 
one's  self  was  what  made  life  hard.  Would  there  not 
surely  come  a  day,  somewhere  in  the  upward  scale, 
where  souls  could  reach  one  another  better  than 

this? 

But  he  had  stirred  her ;  he  knew  that  by  the  way 
she  was  looking  at  him  now.  Finally  she  asked, 
tremblingly,  a  little  resentfully:  "Dr.  Parkman, 
what  is  it  you  would  have  me  do?  " 

"Do  something  with  your  life,"  was  his  prompt 
reply.  "  Help  make  it  right  for  Karl." 

She  caught  that  up  breathlessly.  "  Make  it  right 
for  Karl?  " 

"  You  say  he  was  always  cut  off  just  this  side^of 
achievement.  Then  you  achieve  something  which 
will  at  least  show  what  he  was  able  to  inspire." 

That  sunk  so  deep  that  her  face  went  very  white. 

"  But  you  do  not  understand,"  she  whispered  pas 
sionately.  "  You  mean  that  I  should  paint— and  I 
tell  you  I  cannot.  I  tell  you  it  is  dead!  " 

"  Not  necessarily  that  you  should  paint.     Not  just 


350  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

now,  if  you  cannot.  But  come  back  into  touch  with 
life.  Do  something  to  force  yourself  back  into  it, 
and  then  let  life  itself  show  you  that  the  other  things 
are  not  dead  after  all." 

"  But  I  do  not  want  to ! "  came  bitterly  from  her. 

"  Sometimes,"  he  said,  with  more  of  his  usual  man 
ner,  "  we  do  things  we  do  not  want  to,  and  through 
the  doing  of  them,  we  get  to  want  to.  Do  something ! 
— whether  you  want  to  or  not.  Stop  doing  futile 
things  and  dwelling  on  the  sense  of  their  futility. 
Why,  Ernestine,  come  up  to  the  hospital  and  go  to 
work  as  a  nurse!  Heaven  knows  I  never  expected  to 
advise  you  to  do  that,  but  anything — painting  pic 
tures  or  scrubbing  floors — that  will  bring  you  back  to 
a  sense  of  living — the  obligations  of  life — show  you 
that  something  is  yours  that  life  and  death  and  hell 
can't  take  from  you !  " 

And  still  he  sat  there,  thinking.  In  just  a  mo 
ment  he  must  go — go  away  leaving  her  alone  with 
the  years  which  awaited  her.  For  just  an  instant  it 
seemed  as  though  all  of  the  past  and  all  of  the  future 
were  in  his  keeping.  What  word  leave  with  her? 
He  knew  by  her  passionate  breathing  that  he  had 
reached  her.  And  now  he  was  going  away.  Could 
he  have  done  more — reached  deeper?  In  this,  too, 
had  he  failed  ?  WTiat  word  leave  with  her  ?  His  heart 
was  so  full  of  many  things  that  his  mind  did  not  know 
what  to  choose.  He  remembered  the  day  she  had 
come  to  him  filled  with  the  spirit  to  ride  down  an  ad 
verse  fate  and  win  triumph  from  defeat.  Her  splen- 


ASH    HEAP    AND    ROSE    JAR       351 

did  spirit  then!  Would  that  spirit  ever  come  again? 
Could  it? 

Karl  was  very  close  in  those  final  moments,  and 
even  more  close  than  Karl  was  the  spirit  of  love. 
Many  precious  things  seemed  in  his  keeping  just 
then. 

"  Ernestine,"  he  said  at  the  last,  and  his  face  was 
white  and  his  voice  trembled,  "  you  have  known.  It 
came  to  you.  You  had  it.  It  came  to  you  as  June 
to  the  roses, — in  season,  right.  I  grant  you  it  was 
short.  I  grant  you  it  was  hard  to  see  it  go.  But 
you  had  it!  Say  that  to  yourself  when  you  go  to 
sleep  at  night.  Say  it  to  yourself  when  you  wake  in 
the  morning.  And  some  day  you  will  come  to  see 
what  it  means  just  to  know  that  you  know,  and  then 
your  understanding  and  your  heart  will  go  out  to  all 
who  have  never  known.  You  will  pity  all  who  scoff 
and  all  who  yearn,  and  you  will  say  to  yourself: 
*  The  world  needs  to  know  more  about  love.  More 
than  knowledge  or  science  or  any  other  thing,  the 
world  needs  more  faith  in  love.'  Then  some  day  you 
will  see  that  you  not  only  know  but  have  power  to 
make  it  plain,  and  you  will  not  hold  back  any  longer 
then.  And  there  is  to  be  the  real  victory  and  com 
pletion  of  Karl  Hubers'  life ! — there  the  real  triumph 
over  fate — that  triumph  of  the  spirit  of  love.  I  see 
it  now.  I  see  it  all  now.  And  my  good-bye  word  to 
you  is  just  this — I  do  not  believe  you  are  going  to 
withhold  from  Karl  the  immortality  which  should  be 
his." 


CHAPTER    XL 
"LET  THERE   BE  LIGHT" 

HOURS  had  passed,  and  still  she  could  not 
master  the  sobs.  It  seemed  no  one  had 
ever  been  as  cruel  as  Dr.  Parkman  had 
been  to  her  that  afternoon.  Karl  would 
understand! — and  in  her  passionate  need  of  Karl's 
understanding  she  turned  at  last  to  the  letter  of  which 
she  had  spoken,  the  letter  which  always  seemed  a  little 
like  Karl's  voice  speaking  from  out  the  silence. 

Old  and  worn  and  blurred  with  the  grief  spent 
upon  it,  the  letter  bore  upon  itself  the  record  of  the 
year's  desolation.  It  had  lived  through  things  never 
to  be  told, — never  to  be  comprehended. 

"  Lonesome  days,  liebchen," — he  had  written.  "  It 
would  seem  almost  like  a  rush  of  light  to  feel  you 
standing  in  the  doorway  now. 

"  My  letters  which  I  send  you  will  tell  you  I  am 
well,  getting  along  all  right,  that  I  love  you.  These 
are  some  other  things.  If  I  think  they  will  hurt  you, 
I  will  not  let  you  see  them.  But  I  will  feel  better  to 
get  them  said,  and  of  course  the  easiest  way  to  say 
them  is  to  say  them  to  you. 

"  I  can't  write.  I  wish  I  could.  There  are  things 
'way  back  in  my  thoughts  I  should  like  to  say,  and  say 
right.  For  I've  done  some  thinking  this  year,  lieb- 

352 


"LET    THERE    BE    LIGHT'  353 

chcn — while  I  sat  here  writing  text-books  there  came 
a  good  many  thoughts. 

"  Text-books — any  fool  can  write  them !  Lectures 
on  what  other  men  have  done — what  do  I  care  about 
them  ?  I'll  do  it,  for  I  have  to,  but  I  want  somebody 
to  know — I  want  you  to  know  that  I  know  it  doesn't 
amount  to  a  hill  of  beans ! 

"  Liebchen,  you  hear  a  lot  of  talk  about  the  beau 
ties  of  resignation.  Don't  you  ever  believe  any  of  it. 
We  don't  get  resigned  to  things  that  really  count. 
But  what  we  do  get,  is  courage  to  bear  them.  I'm 
not  resigned  and  I  don't  want  to  be !  But  I  will  try 
to  be  game  about  it,  and  we  can't  be  game  while 
we  are  sore.  I  know  that' because  the  times  I've  been 
least  game  are  the  times  I  was  most  sore.  Wonder 
if  anybody  can  make  any  sense  out  of  that? 

"  Life's  queer — you  can't  get  around  that.  Mak 
ing  us  one  thing  and  then  making  us  be  another. 
What  are  we  to  think  of  it,  licbchen?  Seems  as  if  we 
could  get  on  better  if  we  could  just  get  a  line  on  the 
scheme  of  things,  understand  what  it  is  all  about, 
and  the  why.  Or  isn't  there  any  why?  I  like  a  why 
for  things.  It  gives  them  their  place.  I  don't  like 
disorder,  and  senselessness,  and  if  there  isn't  any  why 
— why  then See  what  I'm  getting  at? 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  when  your  force 
pushes  you  on  to  a  thing  which  is  closed  to  you? 
Stop  the  force?  Well,  doesn't  that  stop  yourself? 
Turn  it  somewhere  else  ?  Easy  to  say  in  working  out 
a  philosophy, — not  so  easy  to  do. 

"Where's  the  end  of  it? — that's  what  I  want  to 


THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

know.  I'm  one  of  those  practical  chaps  who  wants 
to  see  an  end  in  sight. 

"  Ernestine,  light's  a  great  thing.  Light's  the 
great  thing.  I  never  knew  that  until  I  went  blind. 
You  have  to  stay  a  long  time  in  the  darkness  to  know 
just  what  it  is  light  means. 

"  They  call  great  men  '  great  lights.'  c  And  then 
came  the  light,'  they  say,  regarding  the  solving  of 
some  great  thing.  fi  He  brought  the  light ' — that's 
what  I  wanted  to  do !  They  tell  about  science  bring 
ing  the  light.  I  know  now  what  a  tribute  they  pay 
when  they  say  that.  Light  of  understanding,  light 
of  truth — and  ah,  mein  liebchen,  the  light  of  love — 
and  well  do  I  know  how  that  light  can  shine  into  the 
darkness ! 

"  '  More  light ' — Goethe  said,  when  he  was  going 
out  into  the  dark.  A  great  thing  to  ask  for.  I  know 
how  he  felt !— «  And  God  said— Let  there  be  light  '— 
I  don't  wonder  that  story  has  lived  a  long  time. 

"  My  books  are  finished.  Now  what? — more 
books? — lectures? — some  kind  of  old  woman's  make 
shift?  Sit  here  and  watch  my  red  blood  dry  up? 
Sit  here  like  a  plant  shrivelling  away  in  the  dark 
ness  ?  Be  looked  after  and  fussed  over  and  have  things 
made  as  easy  for  me  as  possible?  I  don't  know— I 
can't  see 

"  There,  liebchen — I've  taken  a  brace.  I  took  a 
long  drink  of  courage,  and  I'm  in  better  shape. 
Often  when  I  get  like  that  I've  been  tempted  to  take 
a  long  drink  of  something  else — but  I  never  have. 
Whiskey's  for  men  who  feel  good;  men  who  haven't 


"LET    THERE    BE    LIGHT'         355 

much  to  fight.  Not  for  me — not  any  such  finish  as 
that. 

"  I'm  making  bad  business  of  this  letter.  I  wanted 
to  tell  things,  tell  what  light  was  and  what  darkness 
was;  but  I  can't  do  it.  Many  things  have  been  cir 
cling  around  my  thoughts  and  I  thought  I  might  get 
hold  of  a  few  of  them  and  pull  them  in.  But  I  can't 
seem  to  do  it.  I  never  was  much  good  at  writing 
things  out;  it's  hard  to  get  words  for  things  that 
aren't  even  full-born  thoughts. 

"  My  work  was  great,  liebchen — great !  A  con 
stant  piercing  of  the  darkness  with  light — a  letting 
in  of  more  light — new  light.  I  can  understand  now 
why  I  loved  it ;  where  the  joy  was ;  what  it  was  I  was 
doing. 

"Is  life  like  that?  Don't  we  understand  things 
until  we  are  out  of  them?  By  Jove,  is  it  true  that  we 
have  to  get  out  of  them,  in  order  to  understand  them  ? 
And  if  that's  true,  is  it  the  understanding  that's  the 
goal?  Is  it — oh,  I  don't  know — I'm  sure  I  don't 
know. 

"  But  look  here,  liebchen, — is  it  true  that  while  I 
had  the  light,  I  didn't  have  it  at  all, — didn't  know 
what  it  meant?  Did  I  have  to  lose  it  in  order  to  get 
it?  For  isn't  it  having  a  thing  to  understand  it — 
more  than  it's  having  it  to  really  have  it  and  not  un 
derstand?  See  what  I  mean?  Those  are  some  of  the 
things  circling  around  on  the  outside. 

"  Sometimes  I  think  so.  Sometimes  I  think  the 
light  was  shut  out  that  the  greater  light  might  come. 
Sometimes  I  think  we  scientists  haven't  the  right  line 


856  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

on  the  world  at  all.  Why,  Ernestine,  sometimes  I 
think  it's  miles  deeper  than  we  ever  dreamed ! 

"  A  hodge-podge — this  letter.  Like  my  life,  start 
ing  out  one  thing,  and  ending  up  another,  or  rather 
not  ending  up  anything  at  all — a  going  to  pieces  in 
the  midst  of  my  philosophy — a  not  being  sure  of 
anything — a  constant  '  perhaps.' 

"  I'm  lonesome.  I'm  tired.  I  don't  feel  well.  The 
old  ladies  would  say  I'm  6  under  the  weather.'  Why, 
I  can't  even  keep  feeling  right  when  you're  away. 

"  I  want  you.  I  want  you — here — now.  I  can't 
talk  to  you  on  this  infernal  machine,  my  hands  grop 
ing  around  just  as  senselessly  as  my  thoughts.  I 
tell  you,  liebchen,  blindness  is  bad  business.  It  sounds 
well  in  a  poem,  but  it's  a  bad  thing  to  live  with.  It's 
bad  to  wake  up  in  the  night  sometimes  and  think 
that  it  will  be  daylight  soon  and  then  remember  that 
it  will  never  be  daylight  for  you  again ! 

"  I  wish  you  were  here.  I'm  just  in  the  mood  for 
talking — not  talking,  perhaps,  but  having  you  close 
to  me,  and  understanding. 

"  There's  one  thing  that  there's  no  perhaps  about. 
That's  you.  There's  no  perhaps  when  it  comes  to 
our  love.  There's  no  perhaps • 

"  Now,  that  made  me  fall  a-dreaming.  I  stopped 
writing  and  lighted  my  pipe  and  sat  a  long  time, 
thinking  of  you.  It's  *  our  hour  ' — I  know  that,  be 
cause  I  heard  the  clock  strike.  Where  are  you? 
Why  aren't  you  here? 

"  I  want  you.     Believe  I  said  that  before,  but  if  I 


"LET    THERE    BE    LIGHT'          357 

said  it  a  thousand  times,  I  couldn't  make  it  strong 
enough.  I  don't  know  why  I  want  you  like  this — 
this  soul  want.  It  isn't  just  your  kisses,  your  sweet 
ness,  the  dear  things  about  you.  I  want  you  to  be 
here  to  understand — for  you  would — you  do. 

"  My  light  in  the  darkness,  my  Ernestine!  I  shall 
never  let  you  go  away  again.  The  darkness  is  too 
dark  without  you. 

"  Evening  now,  for  again  I  stopped ;  too  tired,  too 
quiet,  someway,  to  feel  like  writing.  I  am  going  to 
bed.  I  wish  you  were  here  for  your  good-night  kiss. 
I  wish  you  were  here  just  to  tell  me  that  you  under 
stand  all  these  things  I  have  not  been  able  to  say.  I 
wish  you  were  here  to  tell  me — what  in  my  heart  I 
know — that  you  are  going  to  bring  me  the  light,  that 
love  will  light  the  way.  I  wish  you  were  here  to  telf 
me  that  what  my  eyes  cannot  tell  you,  as  they  used 
to,  you  can  read  now  just  by  the  beating  of  my  heart, 
just  through  the  fulness  of  our  silences. 

"  Oh,  little  one — your  eyes — your  dear  eyes — your 
lovely  hair — your  smile — your  arms  about  my  neck — 
your  whispered  word  in  my  ear — your  soft  cheek 
against  mine — your  laugh — your  voice — your  ten 
derness — I  want  it  all  to-night — and  the  Ernestine 
of  the  silences — the  Ernestine  who  understands  with 
out  knowing — helps  without  trying. 

"  Soon  you  will  be  back.  That  will  be  sunrise  after 
long  darkness. 

"  Good-night.  It's  hard  to  leave  you — so  lone 
some — wanting  you  so.  Again,  good-night,  dear 


358  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

girl  for  whom  my  arms  are  yearning.  Bless  you, 
sweetheart — God  bless  you — and  does  God,  Himself, 
know  what  you  have  been  to  me?  " 

She  read  the  last  of  it,  as  always,  with  sobs  uncon 
trollable.  Dr.  Parkman — everything — was  forgot 
ten.  It  was  Karl  alone  in  the  library,  longing  for 
her,  needing  her — and  she  not  there. 

"  Oh,  Karl— Karl !  "  she  sobbed  across  the  black 
chasm  of  the  year — "  if  I  could  only  have  had  that 
hour!" 


CHAPTER    XLI 
WHEN   THE   TIDE   CAME   IN 

BUT  the  days  which  came  then  were  different. 
Dr.  Parkman  had  stirred  her  to  a  discon 
tent  with  despair. 

She  had  come  West  with  Georgia  and 
Joe.  For  five  days  they  had  been  at  this  little  town 
on  the  Oregon  coast.  Through  the  day  and  through 
the  night  she  listened  to  the  call  of  the  sea.  It  stirred 
her  strangely.  At  times  it  frightened  her. 

She  did  not  know  why  she  should  have  wished  to 
come.  Perhaps  it  was  because  it  seemed  a  reaching 
out  to  the  unknown.  After  she  had  known  she  was 
to  go,  she  would  awaken  in  the  night  and  hear  the 
far-off  roll  of  the  Pacific,  and  would  lie  there  very  still 
as  if  listening  for  something  from  the  farther  un 
known.  Her  whole  being  was  stirred — drawn — un- 
reasoningly  expectant.  There  were  moments  when 
she  seemed  to  just  miss  something  to  which  she  was 
very  close. 

To-day  she  had  walked  clear  around  the  bend. 
The  little  town  and  pleasant  beach  were  hidden  from 
view,  and  there  was  only  the  lighthouse  out  among 
the  rocks,  and  the  sea  coming  in  wild  and  mighty  to 
that  coast  to  which  no  mariner  would  attempt  to 
draw  near. 

359 


360  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

It  was  the  hour  of  the  in-coming  tide,  and  as  the 
sea  beat  against  the  rocks  it  seemed  as  omnipotent 
and  relentless  as  that  sea  of  fate  against  which  noth 
ing  erected  by  man  could  hope  to  prevail. 

There  was  no  human  being  in  sight.  Man,  and  all 
to  which  man  blinded  one,  were  far  away.  She  was 
alone  with  things  as  they  were,  alone  with  the  forces 
which  made  the  world  and  life,  and  as  the  tides  of  the 
sea  brought  close  to  her  wave  after  wave,  so  the  mind's 
tides  were  bringing  close  to  her  wave  upon  wave  of 
understanding. 

Fate  had  washed  them  away  just  as  this  ocean 
would  wash  away  the  child's  playhouse  built  upon  the 
sands.  They  had  believed  they  could  make  their 
lives,  that  it  was  for  their  spirit  to  elect  what  they 
should  do,  their  hands  build  as  they  had  willed;  and 
all  that  the  spirit  had  willed  to  do,  and  all  that  the 
hands  set  about  to  achieve,  was  washed  away  by  just 
one  of  those  waves  of  fate  which  rolled  in  and  took 
them  with  no  more  of  regret,  no  more  of  compassion, 
than  the  sea  would  have  in  washing  away  the  play 
house  built  upon  the  sands.  And  if  the  sea  were 
chidden  for  having  taken  away  the  house  upon  the 
sands,  which  meant  much  to  some  one,  it  would  quite 
likely  answer  grimly:  "I  did  not  know  that  it  was 
there." 

She  laughed — and  Karl  would  have  hated  life  for 
bringing  Ernestine  to  that  laugh.  But  she  laughed 
to  think  how  she  had  looked  fate  in  the  face  with  the 
words :  "  I  will  prevail  against  you !  "  Would  the 


WHEN    THE    TIDE    CAME    IN       361 

child,  building  its  house  upon  the  sand  and  saying  to 
the  ocean :  "  I  will  not  let  you  take  my  house ! "  be 
more  absurd  than  she? 

What  she  had  believed  to  be  the  tremendous  force 
of  her  spirit  had  been  as  one  grain  of  sand  against 
the  tides  of  ocean.  What  was  one  to  think  of  it  all 
then — of  human  love  which  believed  itself  created  for 
eternity,  of  dreams  which  one's  soul  persuaded  one 
would  come  true,  of  aspirations  born  in  a  hallucina 
tion  of  power,  of  that  spark  within  one  which  played 
one  false,  of  believing  one  could  master  fate  only  to 
find  one  had  erected  a  child's  house  upon  the  sands, 
and  that  what  had  been  achieved  in  consciousness  of 
great  power  could  be  swept  away  so  easily  that  the 
ocean  was  not  even  conscious  of  having  taken  it  unto 
itself? 

Very  sternly,  very  understandingly,  their  lives 
swept  before  her  anew.  .  .  .  Just  one  little 
wave  from  the  tide  of  fate  had  lapped  up,  unknow 
ingly,  uncaringly,  that  house  upon  the  sand  which  a 
delusion  of  the  spirit  had  made  seem  a  castle  grounded 
in  eternity.  Why  blind  one's  self  to  the  truth  and 
call  life  fair?  For  what  had  they  fought  and  suf 
fered  and  believed  and  hoped?  Just  to  hear  the 
mocking  voice  of  the  outgoing  tide? 

The  fury  of  the  sea  was  creeping  into  her  blood. 
Rage  possessed  her.  All  of  her  spirit,  mightier  than 
ever  before,  went  out  to  meet  the  spirit  of  the  sea — 
hating  it,  defying  it,  understanding  its  own  futility, 
and  the  more  hot  from  the  sense  of  impotence.  That 


THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

ft 

died  to  desolation.  She  had  never  been  so  wholly  des 
olate — the  sea  so  mighty,  she  so  powerless.  Fate  and 
human  souls  were  like  that. 

Karl — where  was  he?  Swept  out  by  the  ocean  of 
fate.  To  what  shore  had  he  been  carried?  What 
thought  he  of  the  tide  which  had  carried  him  out 
from  her?  Was  his  soul,  like  hers,  spending  itself  in 
the  passion  of  rebellion — so  mighty  as  to  shake  the 
foundations  of  one's  being,  so  futile  as  to  prevail 
against  not  one  drop  of  water  in  that  sea  of 
fate? 

Time  passed ;  the  tide  was  still  coming  in,  nearing 
its  height.  But  to  the  sea  there  had  come  a  change. 
The  spirit  of  it  seemed  different.  For  a  long  time 
she  sat  there  dimly  conscious  of  a  difference,  and 
then  it  seemed  as  though  the  sea  were  trying  to  reach 
her  with  something  it  had  to  bring. 

She  tried  to  shake  herself  free  from  so  strange  a 
fancy,  but  it  held  her,  and  for  a  long  time  she  sat 
there  motionless,  looking  out  at  the  sea  with  all  her 
eyes,  reaching  out  to  it  with  all  her  soul,  becoming 
more  and  more  still, — a  hush  upon  her  whole  being, — 
moved,  held,  unreasoningly  expectant. 

The  sea  seemed  trying  to  make  her  ready.  Each 
wave  which  beat  upon  the  rocks  beat  against  her  con 
sciousness,  driving  against  her  mood  and  spirit,  as  if 
clearing  a  way,  making  her  ready,  open,  to  what 
would  come. 

It  seemed  finally  to  have  cleared  her  whole  being, 
driven  away  all  which  might  impede.  It  seemed  now 
as  though  she  could  take  in  things  not  seen  or  heard. 


WHEN    THE    TIDE    CAME    IN       363 

There  was  that  strange  openness  of  the  spirit,  that 
hush,  that  unreasoning  expectancy. 

All  at  once  it  rushed  upon  her,  filling  her  over 
whelmingly.  It  said  that  there  was  a  sea  mightier 
than  what  she  called  the  sea  of  fate ;  it  told  of  a  sea 
of  human  souls  over  which  fate  only  seemed  to  pre 
vail.  A  great  rush  of  truth  filled  her  with  this — It 
was  the  belief  in  the  omnipotence  of  fate  which  was 
the  real  delusion  of  the  spirit. 

Over  and  over  again,  with  steadily  rising  tide,  it 
told  her  that, — no  more  to  be  reasoned  away  than 
the  sea,  resistless  as  the  tide. 

She  never  knew  in  after  years  just  what  it  was 
happened  in  that  hour.  She  could  not  have  told  it, 
for  it  was  not  a  thing  for  words  to  compass.  But 
after  that  great  truth  had  rushed  full  upon  her, 
sweeping  away  the  philosophy  of  her  bitterness, 
Karl's  spirit,  something  sent  out  from  him  to  her, 
seemed  to  come  in  with  the  tide.  He  pleaded  with 
her.  He  asked  her  to  stop  fighting  and  come  back 
to  the  soul  of  things.  He  asked  her  to  be  Ernestine 
— his  Ernestine.  He  told  her  that  his  own  spirit 
could  not  find  peace  while  hers  was  waging  war  and 
full  of  bitterness.  He  wanted  her  to  make  a  place 
for  them  both  in  that  great  world-harmony  of  their 
belief.  He  told  her  that  out  where  souls  see  in  wider 
sweeps,  they  know  that  there  is  a  spirit  over  which 
death  and  fate  cannot  prevail. 

Darkness  came  on,  but  she  had  no  thought  of  fear. 
And  before  she  turned  away  something  had  risen 
from  the  dead.  Out  of  woe  and  despair,  defeat  and 


364     THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

bitterness,  out  of  loneliness  and  a  broken  heart,  some 
thing  was  born  again.  Karl  asked  that  she  make  it 
right  with  the  world.  Karl  asked  for  a  child  of  their 
love.  And  at  the  last  it  was  the  call  of  the  child  to 
the  mother  which  she  heard.  It  was  the  maternal 
instinct  of  the  spirit  which  answered. 

Very  late  that  night,  after  she  had  sat  long  at  her 
window,  looking  up  at  the  stars,  waiting,  a  great 
light  seemed  to  appear,  and  shimmering  against  the 
sky,  high  above  the  tides  of  the  sea,  she  saw  the  pic 
ture  which  she  would  paint. 


CHAPTER    XLII 
WORK  THE  SAVIOUR 

FOR   more   than   three   years   then   they   saw 
nothing  of  Ernestine.     She  left  this  note 
for  Georgia :  "  I  am  sorry  to  seem  erratic, 
but  I  cannot  wait  for  you.      I  am  going 
away  at  once.     I  am  going  first  to  New  York,  and 
then,  I  think,  to  Paris.     I  am  going  to  do  something 
which   I   can   do   better   there   than    anywhere   else. 
Thank  you,  Georgia,  for  everything.     It  must  be 
satisfying  to  feel  one  has  succeeded  as  beautifully 
in  anything  as  you  have  succeeded  in  being  a  friend 
to  me.     Do  not  worry.     There  is  nothing  now  to 
worry  about.     You  will  be  glad  to  know  that  I  am 
going  back  to  my  work." 

A  little  later  Dr.  Parkman  had  this  from  her  from 
New  York :  "  I  am  sailing  for  Paris.  I  am  going  to 
work.  I  see  it  all  now ;  all  that  you  would  have  me 
see,  and  more.  Some  day  I  will  try  to  show  you  just 
how  well  I  see  it. 

"  I  do  not  know  how  I  am  going  to  bear  part  of  it — 
the  going  back  where  we  were  so  happy.  But  I 
will  bear  it,  for  nothing  shall  keep  me  from  the  work 
I  see  before  me. 

"  Thank  you — for  all  that  you  have  done,  and 
most  of  all  for  all  that  you  have  been.  My  idea  is 

365 


566  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

all  comprehended  in  this:  To  the  very  uttermost  of 
my  power,  I  am  going  to  make  it  right  for  Karl." 

Six  months  later  she  wrote  him  this : 

"  Dear  Doctor :  Thank  you  for  attending  to  those 
things  for  me.  It  infuriated  me  at  first  to  think  that 
the  only  thing  in  money  left  by  the  work  of  Karl's 
great  life  was  the  money  from  those  books  which  I 
resented  so  bitterly.  But  how  wrong  to  see  it  that 
way — for  Karl  would  be  so  happy  to  know  that 
the  brave  work  he  did  after  his  blindness  was  helping 
me  now.  But  I  never  spend  a  dollar  of  this  money 
without  thinking  of  the  mood — the  circumstances 
— out  of  which  it  was  earned. 

"  No — no  money  for  the  work  he  did  for  the  blind. 
Karl  intended  that  as  a  gift.  He  would  be  so  glad 
to  know  of  its  usefulness.  He  thought  it  all  wrong 
that  books  for  the  blind  were  so  expensive,  and  so 
many  of  the  great  things  not  to  be  had. 

"  Karl  used  to  repeat  a  little  verse  of  Heine,  which 
he  translated  like  this  : 

"'At  first  I  did  not  even  hope, 
And  to  a  hostile  fate  did  bow — 
But  I  learned  to  bear  the  burden — 
Only  do  not  ask  me  how.' 

"I  have  learned  to  bear  it  here  in  Paris — only 
do  not  ask  me  how.  I  could  not  say.  I  do  not  know. 

"  But  I  want  to  tell  you  of  a  few  of  the  good 
things.  You  would  not  believe  what  that  work  in 
the  laboratory  has  done  for  me.  It  has  given  me  a 
new  understanding  of  colour — new  sense  of  it,  new 


WORK    THE    SAVIOUR  367 

power  with  eye  and  hand,  a  better  sense  of  values. 
Would  you  have  thought  of  that?  And  do  you  not 
see  the  reasons  for  my  being  glad? 

"  What  I  have  done  so  far  is  but  leading  up  to 
what  I  am  going  to  do.  That  is  so  vital  that  it  must 
not  be  done  too  quickly.  I  must  get  my  hand  in, 
gain  \Vhat  there  is  to  be  gained  here,  that  the  work  I 
am  going  to  do  for  Karl  may  have  the  benefit  of  it 
all.  But  I  have  made  innumerable  sketches,  and  it  is 
growing  all  the  time.  There  need  be  no  fear  of  my 
losing  it.  I  could  no  more  lose  it  than  I  could  lose 
my  own  soul.  It  grows  as  I  grow.  Sometimes  I 
think  I  should  wait  ten  years — but  I  shall  not. 

"  Yes,  the  critics  like  the  picture  of  which  you 
speak.  Of  course  I  am  painting  all  the  time — other 
things — various  things.  But  it  all  seems  like  practice 
work  to  me — a  mere  getting  ready." 

And  then,  after  a  long  time,  this : — "  This  is  my 
birthday ; — a  day  linked  more  closely  than  I  could 
ever  tell  with  Karl,  our  life  and  work  and  love.  If 
I  had  looked  forward  from  one  happy  birthday  I 
had  and  seen  what  was  ahead — how  it  would  be  with 
me  now — I  never  could  have  gone  on.  We  go  on  by 
not  knowing  what  is  waiting  for  us,  and  day  by  day 
we  bear  what  we  would  have  said,  looking  ahead, 
we  never  could  endure — and  that  is  human  life. 

"  I  have  been  so  lonely  to-day  that  I  must  write 
this  little  word  to  one  who  will  understand.  I  turn 
to  you  as  one  close  to  us  in  those  dear  days,  one 
who  cared  for  and  appreciated  Karl,  understood  some 
thing  of  the  kind  of  love  that  was  ours.  Doctor — it 


368  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

was  so  wonderful !  So  wonderful  that  it  seems  to  me 
sometimes  the  universe  must  have  existed  through 
the  centuries  just  that  our  love  might  be  born. 
I  think  of  it  as  the  one  perfect  flower  of  crea 
tion. 

"  I  want  you  to  know  that  I  have  come  to  see  the 
worth — pricelessness — of  my  memories.  Karl's  love 
for  me  lights  up  my  life  with  a  glory  nothing  can  ever 
take  away.  I  think  we  do  not  have  even  our  memories 
until  we  have  earned  them.  I  have  tried  to  come  back 
to  my  own,  to  take  my  place.  I  am  trying  to  be  of 
that  great  harmony  of  the  world  in  which  Karl  and  I 
believed,  and  as  my  spirit  turns  from  discord  and 
seeks  harmony,  I  am  given  my  memories,  the  memo 
ries  of  those  many  perfect  days,  and  I  am  never  too 
lonely  nor  too  desolate  to  thank  God  that  to  me  was 
left  the  scent  of  the  roses. 

"  Oh,  Doctor — where  is  he  now?  Do  you  ever  think 
of  all  that?  No  one  who  has  ever  loved  and  lost  can 
remain  secure  in  his  materialism.  I  begin  to  see  that 
the  beautiful  thoughts,  the  poems,  of  immortality, 
eternity,  of  its  all  coming  right,  have  sprung  from 
the  lonely  hearts  of  great  lovers.  For  they  would  not 
have  it  any  other  way — they  could  only  endure  it  by 
having  it  so,  and,  ah,  Doctor — far  greater  than  any 
proof  of  science  or  logic,  is  there  not  proof  in  this? 
Lifting  up  their  hearts  in  hours  of  desolation  were  not 
the  men  and  women  born  for  great  loves  and  great 
sorrows  granted  a  vision  of  the  truth? 

"  We  do  not  know.  None  of  them  know.  We  hope 
and  wait  and  long  for  the  years  to  tell  us  the  truth. 


WORK    THE    SAVIOUR  369 

And  while  we  wait  and  hope,  we  work,  and  try  to  make 
our  lives  that  which  is  worthy  our  love.  That  en 
deavour,  and  that  alone,  makes  life  bearable." 

After  a  year  of  silence  he  received  this  letter: 
"  Doctor,  it  is  finished.  I  will  not  tell  you  the  things 
they  are  saying  of  it  here,  for  you  will  read  it  in  the 
papers.  The  papers  here  are  full  of  it;  I  think  I 
have  never  seen  so  much  about  any  picture. 

"  But  it  is  more  important  that  I  tell  you  this : 
They  are  seeing  it,  even  now,  as  I  intended  it  should 
be  seen — a  work  of  love,  a  memorial,  an  endeavour  to 
make  it  right  for  him.  I  have  cared  more  for  what 
the  scientific  people,  Karl's  own  kind,  have  said  of 
it,  than  the  artists.  They  claim  it  as  their  own,  say 
they  are  going  to  have  it,  get  it  some  way, — must 
have  it.  Do  you  not  see  how  that  means  the  fulfil 
ment  of  my  desire? 

"  Of  course  you  know  that  it  is  a  picture  of  Karl. 
But  the  critics  here  call  it  less  a  portrait  than  the 
incarnation  of  an  idea.  Light  and  truth  sweeping 
in  upon  a  human  soul — one  of  them  expressed  it. 
But  why  try  to  tell  you  of  that?  When  you  see  it 
you  will  understand  what  it  is  I  have  tried  to  do. 
And  you  shall  see  it  soon.  After  it  is  exhibited  here 
they  want  it  in  Vienna,  and  I  cannot  refuse,  for  Karl 
loved  Vienna,  and  then  a  short  time  in  London,  and 
then  I  come  with  it  to  America,  and  to  Chicago.  I 
am  bringing  it  home,  Doctor,  for  even  though  it  find 
final  resting  place  in  that  great  temple  of  science  in 
Paris,  I  have  the  feeling,  in  taking  it  to  Chicago, 
that  I  am  bringing  it  home.  And  the  first  day  it  is 


370    THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

exhibited  there  I  want  you  and  me  to  go  to  it  to 
gether,  as  Karl  would  like  that  we  should. 

"  I  am  so  tired  that  I  do  not  believe  I  shall  ever  be 
quite  rested  again.  For  the  last  three  months  I  lived 
with  the  picture,  my  heart  and  mind  knew  nothing 
else.  But  the  day  I  finished  it  my  strongest  feeling 
was  a  regret  that  it  was  finished,  a  yearning  to  go 
on  with  it  forever.  For  doctor,  I  painted  my  heart, 
my  life,  everything  that  I  had  within  myself,  every 
thing  I  had  taken  from  Karl,  into  that  picture.  I 
am  lonely  now  without  it,  for  it  made  my  life. 

"  It  has  revived  Karl's  whole  story.  They  tell  it 
here — oh  so  lovingly.  I  heard  one  man  from  the 
Institute  telling  it  all  to  a  younger  man  as  they 
stood  before  it  yesterday.  I  have  moved  them  to  a 
new  sense  of  Karl's  greatness ;  it  has  been  my  glorious 
privilege  to  perpetuate  him,  make  sure  his  place, 
reveal  him — for  that  is  what  I  have  sought  to  do. 
Was  not  life  good  to  me  to  give  me  power  to  do  that 
thing? 

"  We  shall  be  together  in  Chicago  very  soon — you 
and  Karl  and  I.  For  as  the  days  go  on  Karl  comes 
closer.  I  hope,  most  of  all,  that  the  picture  will 
bring  him  very  close  to  you." 

That  was  three  months  before,  and  to-day  he  had 
this  note  from  her,  dated  Chicago : — "  Yes,  I  am 
here,  and  the  picture  is  here.  The  public  exhibit  does 
not  open  for  a  few  days,  but  the  picture  will  be 
hung  this  morning,  and  we  may  see  it  this  afternoon. 
I  shall  be  there  at  three,  waiting  for  you." 


CHAPTER    XLIII 
"AND   THERE   WAS   LIGHT" 

HE  spent  the  intervening  hours  restlessly; 
the  hands  of  his  watch  moved  slowly ;  his 
duties  occupied  only  a  small  portion  of  his 
mind. 

He  was  at  the  Institute  at  just  three,  and  they 
directed  him  where  to  go.  His  heart  was  beating  fast 
as  he  walked  down  the  corridor.  The  hand  which 
he  laid  upon  the  door-knob  shook  a  little. 

He  opened  the  door,  and  a  woman  came  toward  him 
with  outstretched  hand. 

It  was  Ernestine — but  the  three  years  had  done 
much. 

Older — greater — a  more  steady  flame — a  more 
conscious  power — grief  transmuted  to  understanding 
— despair  risen  to  resolution — she  had  gone  a  long 
way.  He  looked  at  her  in  silence — reading,  under 
standing.  It  was  all  written  there — the  story  of  deep 
thinking  and  deeper  loving,  of  battles  and  victories, 
and  other  battles  yet  to  fight,  the  poise  which  attends 
the  victor — yes,  she  had  gone  a  long  way.  And  as 
she  spoke  his  name,  and  smiled  a  little,  and  then  could 
not  repress  the  tears  which  his  presence,  all  that  it 
meant,  brought,  he  saw,  shining  through  her  tears, 
that  light  of  love's  own  days. 

She  turned  and  walked  to  the  other  side  of  the 

371 


372    THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

room,  and  he  knew  that  she  was  taking  him  to  the 
picture. 

She  watched  his  face  as  he  took  it  in,  and  she  knew 
then  that  she  had  done  her  work. 

For  a  long  time  he  said  nothing,  and  when  at  last 
he  turned  to  her,  eyes  dim,  voice  husky,  it  was  only 
to  say :  "  I  can  say — nothing.  There  are — no 
words." 

He  turned  back  to  the  picture,  she  standing  silent 
beside  him,  reading  in  his  face  that  with  each  moment 
he  was  coming  into  more  perfect  understanding. 

For  she  had  painted  Karl's  face  as  it  was  just  be 
fore  he  went  into  the  silence.  She  had  caught  the 
look  which  illumined  his  face  that  day  on  his  death 
bed  when  she  told  him  what  she  had  done.  She  had 
painted  Karl  as  he  was  in  that  moment  of  perfect 
understanding — the  joy  which  was  uplift,  the  knowl 
edge  which  was  glory.  She  had  perpetuated  in  her 
picture  the  things  which  Karl  took  with  him  from 
life.  It  was  Karl  in  the  supreme  moment  of  his  life 
— the  moment  of  revelation,  transfiguration,  the  mo 
ment  which  lighted  all  the  years. 

It  was  triumph  which  she  had  perpetuated  in  the 
picture.  She  was  saying  to  the  world — He  did  not 
achieve  what  he  set  out  to  achieve,  but  can  you  say 
he  failed  when  he  left  the  world  with  a  soul  like 
this? 

He  saw  that  it  was  what  she  had  done  with  light 
which  made  the  picture,  from  the  standpoint  of  her 
art,  supreme.  The  critics  said  that  no  one  had 
ever  done  just  that  thing  with  light  before — painted 


"AND   THERE   WAS   LIGHT'*        373 

light  in  just  that  spirit  of  loving  and  understanding 
it;  less  light,  indeed,  than  light's  significance.  They 
said  that  no  one  before  had  painted  the  kind  of  light 
which  could  make  a  blind  man  see.  For  he  was 
blind — the  picture  told  that,  but  it  seemed  no  one 
had  ever  had  light  quite  as  understandingly  as  he  had 
it  there. 

"  You  feel  it,  doctor?  "  she  asked  at  last,  timidly. 
"You  see  it  all?" 

He  nodded.  It  seemed  so  far  beyond  any  word 
of  his. 

But  she  wanted  to  talk  to  him  about  it.  "  You 
see  what  it  has  meant  to  me?  Why  I  loved  it  and  lived 
for  it?  Oh  doctor — I  wanted  to  show  that  he  was 
greater  than  all  the  great  things  he  sought  to  do ! 
The  night  this  picture  came  to  me  it  set  my  blood  on 
fire,  and  at  no  moment  since,  no  matter  how  tired  or 
lonely  or  discouraged — have  I  lost  my  love  for  it — 
belief  in  it.  It  seems  so  right.  It  seems  to  stand 
for  so  many  things.  They  call  it  a  masterpiece  of 
light — and  isn't  it  fine — great — right,  that  Karl's 
portrait  should  be  a  masterpiece  of  light?  " 

For  a  long  time  he  was  lost  to  it.  It  was  as  she 
said — right.  To  the  blind  man  had  come  the  light; 
to  the  man  of  science  the  light  of  truth,  and  to  the 
human  soul,  about  to  set  out  on  another  journey, 
had  come  the  perfect  understanding  of  what  had 
lighted  the  way  for  him  here. 

When  he  turned  to  her  at  last  she  was  looking 
at  the  picture  with  such  love  in  her  eyes  as  he  had 
never  seen.  Her  lips  were  parted — tremulous ;  there 


374  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  CONQUERED 

were  tears  upon  her  cheeks ;  her  whole  face  quivered 
with  love  and  longing.  He  saw  then,  in  that  one 
glance  before  he  turned  away,  that  time  and  death 
held  no  sway  over  such  a  love  as  this. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to,"  she  faltered.  "  But  I  have 
not  seen  the  picture  myself  for  a  long  time,  and  your 
being  here " 

She  broke  down  there,  and  he  summoned  no  word 
with  which  to  answer  her  sobs. 

"  Dr.  Parkman," — raising  a  passionate  face — "  I 
want  you  to  know  that  if  this  were  the  greatest  pic 
ture  the  world  had  ever  seen — if  it  were  a  thousand 
times  greater  than  anything  the  world  had  ever 
known — I  would  throw  it  away — obliterate  it — 
gladly — joyously — for  just  one  touch  of  Karl's 
hand!" 

"  Yes,"  he  murmured,  more  to  himself  than  to  her, 
"  and  if  you  were  not  like  that  you  never  could  have 
done  it." 

"  What  it  cost !  "—he  heard  her  whisper.  "  What 
it  cost!  " 

He  told  her  that  it  had  ever  been  so.  That  the 
great  things  were  paid  for  like  that.  That  so  many 
of  the  things  which  had  lived  longest  and  gone  deepest 
had  come  from  broken  hearts  and  souls  tried  almost 
beyond  their  power  for  suffering.  He  told  her  that 
the  future  would  accept  this,  as  it  had  the  others, 
without  knowing  of  its  -cost,  that  a  myriad  of  broken 
hearts  had  gone  into  the  sum  of  the  world's  achieve 
ment. 

In  the  half  hour  which  followed,  as  they  sat  there, 


"AND   THERE  WAS  LIGHT"        375 

speaking  sometimes  of  Karl,  more  often  silent,  some 
things  seemed  to  pass  from  the  man's  heart,  other 
things  to  come.  And  as  at  the  last  he  rose  to  go,  for 
he  felt  she  would  like  a  little  time  alone,  he  said,  and 
his  face  and  his  voice  gave  much  which  the  words 
missed:  "Ernestine,  you  have  done  more  than  you 
know.  For  me  too — you  have  made  it  right." 

She  sat  a  long  time  before  her  picture,  dreaming 
of  Karl.  She  whispered  his  name,  and  he  seemed  to 
answer  with,  "  Liebchen — brave  liebchen — you  have 
been  good  to  me." 

To  her  too  the  hour  brought  new  light.  It  came  to 
her  now  that  she  had  won  a  victory  for  them,  not  be 
cause  she  had  painted  a  great  picture,  but  because  she 
had  brought  them  back  to  that  world  harmony 
from  which  they  seemed  for  a  time  to  have  gone.  She 
had  won,  not  through  the  greatness  of  her  achieve 
ment,  but  through  having  made  it  right  with  her  own 
soul.  The  picture  itself  was  a  thing  of  canvas  and 
paint;  it  was  the  spirit  out  of  which  it  grew — his 
spirit  and  hers — was  the  thing  everlasting.  She  was 
sure  that  Karl  too  knew  now  that  it  was  having  the 
spirit  right  which  counted.  The  "  perhaps  "  of  his 
letter  was  surely  answered  for  him  now. 

And  out  of  this  closeness  to  the  past  there  opened 
to  her  a  little  of  her  own  future — things  she  would 
do.  For  she  must  work, — theirs  a  love  which  made 
for  work.  There  was  much  more  to  paint,  much  to 
show  how  she  and  Karl  loved  the  world,  what  they  held 
it  worth, — and  all  of  it  to  speak  for  their  love, 
glorify,  immortalise  it. 


376    THE    GLORY    OF    THE    CONQUERED 

She  dreamed  deeply  and  tenderly — the  past  so  real 
to  her,  Karl,  their  love,  so  great. 

Now  she  must  go.  To-morrow  many  others  would 
come.  Artists  would  come  to  pronounce  her  work 
good,  wonder  how  she  had  done  this  or  that.  Doctors 
and  the  university  men  would  come,  proud  to  speak 
of  Karl,  claim  him  as  their  own.  But  ah — who  would 
understand  the  tears  and  heart's  blood  out  of  which  it 
had  come  ?  Who  would  know  ?  Who  could  ? 

"  Karl,"  she  murmured  at  the  last — eyes  dim  with 
loving  tears — "  dear  Karl," — dwelling  with  a  long 
tenderness  upon  the  name — "  did  I  indeed  bring  you 
the  light?" 


THE     END 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 
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MAY  3     1974 


u 


EEC.  CIR.  APR  1  3 >e* 
SENT  ON  ILL 

MAR  -  5  1997 

U.  C.  BERKELEY 


MIV.  OF  CALIF., 


BERK. 


LD  21-100m-9,'47(A5702sl6)476 


.    YB  67466 


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